His Girl
by TheBatKid
Summary: Hel was doomed from the start. Follow her journey as she goes from curious, magic-wielding toddler to the fearsome Queen of Helheim. (Sequel; Aether Queen.)
1. Calling

**His Girl**

It was raining in Giantland the night Loki was called away.

He remembered thinking the weather was a little odd when he opened the door. There was the rain, pouring down over the Forests and meadows and taverns, and standing in front of him, dressed in blue armour with wet blond hair, was Thor.

"Brother!" the warrior exclaimed as Loki led them through the foyer. It gleamed golden like a crown; huge chandeliers floated overhead without cords, with Asgardian and Giant statues in all four corners and wherever else they could be placed. The brothers chatted amongst all the glamour for a moment, catching up on whatever went on in Asgard, before Thor looked about the floor.

"Where is she?"

Loki smiled, cocking his head to an archway. When Thor made no move – out of misunderstanding rather than courtesy – the leaner God called out and snapped his fingers. It was a spell Thor knew well. A freezing spell, which couldn't just stop a foe, but perhaps an overly curious child with a sense of adventure.

"Hel," Loki called, his voice softer than rabbit's fur, "Come here. It's your uncle Thor."

The ball of skin and energy that erupted from the kitchen and into Thor's shins was enough to send anyone flying. Much to his credit the God stayed upright, only swaying under the assault.

Hel was Loki's third child; and so far, she was the youngest. He'd spoken of having more but, in light of a war brewing somewhere in the universe, all of those thoughts had been pushed aside to protect the one already born. Her big green eyes stared up at Thor almost expectantly, and he couldn't resist patting the raven-black hair draped over her head.

"She's grown!" he acknowledged.

"It has been a few months since your last visit," Loki explained as he lifted the girl up onto his hip, allowing her to nuzzle against his neck, "She's much more inquisitive now. Were she able to talk I don't know how Angrboda would manage."

"Where is your wife?"

"Not here. In the tavern, perhaps, but not here," there was a note of sadness in his voice, but it was gone the moment he looked at his daughter – Hel the Stunted Giant. "She's grown more adept with magic. Such a little Trickster."

Thor watched as Loki nosed his daughter's temple for a second, remembering how neutral he had been when it came to his sons. Perhaps it wasn't fair for Thor to tell him what he had come to; perhaps his brother was happy where he was, and all wars and trials could wait until Hel had grown up a little more. She was still a toddler. But then the warrior felt the letter in his hand, and something in his mind told him Odin would be furious if he didn't give it.

"Perhaps it would be best if I spoke to you in confidence, brother," he whispered into Loki's ear. Hel looked at him with gleaming green eyes; she knew they were talking about something important, but whatever curiosity she had was brushed aside as her father placed her back on the floor.

"One moment," he asked Thor, who just stepped back to watch his brother's parenting.

Hel, in all of her tiny glory, looked up at her father. She barely amounted to the length of his shins. But still she wore a regal gown of gold and red, shimmering with what looked to be glitter and blessed to protect her against all the things it could. Loki had been quick to announce his royal status at his wedding. And when the children started to come along, they too were given his standing.

"Hel, I must speak with Thor. Can I trust you to stay still while I'm gone?"

The glint of mischief in her eyes was enough.

"Very well. I will release this when I return."

With Hel frozen into place, Loki felt confident enough to take Thor through the foyer and into the grand room of his study. Towering shelves stacked with books stood around the walls, with a mahogany desk in the middle that practically oozed magic. A quill stood at attention beside a stack of papers; he could see the nib shimmering with gold before Loki took it, smiling at him in his usual way.

"What can I help you with, brother?" he asked.

Thor took one look at the smile and green eyes, and sighed. He leaned against the table like a lumberjack would a log, diving into his pockets to hand him a royally sealed letter.

"Odin sent me," he explained as Loki broke the seal, "I thought he was merely watching them, but no. The Fire Giants are threatening all of the Nine Realms with their weaponry. The jewels they have – the crystals – they are capable of destruction the likes of which we've never seen. The Warriors Three are nervous for the outcome."

Whilst he spoke and explained the bad feelings of Asgard, his brother's eyes scanned through the letter. It was nothing too fancy; a paragraph of importance in a page's worth of writing;

_Though I'm anxious to see my granddaughter, I ask for your presence in Asgard to discuss the on-going situation with the Fire Giants. There's yet to be any definitive proof for war but many of my warriors have come back with signs of armaments. I understand Hel is still at a crucial stage in her magic but these events can lead to cataclysmic war. Speaking of which, I have yet to have any—_

A flutter of anger went off in Loki's stomach. If he were a traitor, he would tell Thor he couldn't leave Hel at such a difficult stage in a magic-wielder's life – a stage when magic was practically pouring through their veins and causing all sorts of mischief they hadn't meant. But he wasn't a traitor, and a war with the Fire Giants may have led to a war in Giantland.

"Will I be a consultant or a warrior, should we attack?" he asked, cutting Thor off in the middle of his speech. The God looked at him as though he'd grown a second head.

"Warrior, of course."

"Would I be on the front line?"

"As all great warriors are, yes."

"Hm," he looked out to the hallway, "I may leave Hel without a father."

"Hel would understand your sacrifice, were it to come to that. But it shall not. You are a most excellent father, Loki – we must look at this as an investment of the future."

In the foyer, standing amongst the gleaming gold and statues of great warriors, Hel stood frozen in place, unaware of what was coming. Her fate rested in the hands of her father.

And he was about to make the wrong decision.


	2. First Words

A few hours later, when Thor had left for Asgard and Loki had put his daughter to bed, the God sat in his room wondering what the future held. The rain had turned into a storm; lightning forked across a sky usually filled with galaxies, frightening the creatures that scurried underneath it. It was a mesmerising sight.

The Fire Giants weren't going to end their war on peaceful terms, he knew that much. Ever since their King's coronation some years before – Surtur, he remembered – the fool had been trying to claim land that wasn't his, telling all Asgardians he was the first to walk the universe and therefore had more right to it. Loki's blood boiled just thinking about Muspelheim. As he laid back on the crimson silk sheets and let his fingers dance over the headboard's carvings, his eyes wandered to the nightstand beside him, where a picture stood as a proud reminder of his legacy.

It was a sentimental thing – when Hel was first born. She was such a small baby that compared to her brothers, it was a wonder she'd survived. Loki had called his boys back from their various misdeeds to meet her and, when they arrived, both great hulking masses of scale and fur, he realised how tiny Hel was. The picture was just an embodiment of that. With Fenrir's snout pressed lightly to her pruned temple and the tip of Jorgmundr's tail coiled around her body, Loki froze a slice of time in which all of his children were together.

It was obvious to the boys Hel was the favourite child, but they didn't care. Through her they had gained not only a sister, but an ally as well, and later on in life they knew she'd prove her usefulness. If magic was all it took to get Loki's affection, then they would gladly let her have it.

He remembered how the boys had warned him, if he hurt Hel in any way, they would forget their blood and come after him. The baby was not just his daughter. She was their sister, a new-born and in some ways, the promise of a future they could all look forward to, as if her very birth had set about a chain reaction which would see all of the Nine Realms becoming peaceful. Loki imagined great cities bowing to her as she stood above their parapets. He could see her bringing down fortresses with a sweep of her hand, ruling over lands they thought would never be safe. Fire and debris disappeared whilst a grown Hel walked through his mind, so beautiful with her pale features and jet-black hair, and a sparkling crown atop her head which seemed to whisper of secrets best left alone. A knowing smile sat on her lips; she looked at Loki, old and joyous, as he told her how proud he was of her, and she sat beside him to stare at the colourful skies above.

A knock on the door brought Loki out of his reverie. He rolled over on the bed, eyes hard, hoping Angrboda had a good reason for missing Thor's visit.

"Is the tavern closed?" his voice was just a note away from condescending. He watched through the gathering darkness of his room as the door creaked open, and out from behind it a little face appeared.

Loki's attitude softened.

"Hel," he purred, sitting up and gesturing for her to come forward, "Why are you awake? You should be sleeping."

Hel couldn't answer him, so instead she walked towards him with her lips pressed together. Her green eyes took in all around her; the huge Oak bed with the flower-like carvings; the regal crimson sheets which matched the wallpaper; the huge windows with their curtains drawn, the gold tie-backs tied and neat. It was a familiar sense of order for her. It was a sacrifice Loki made, knowing order was something young children needed before they became chaotic. The God lifted her up to sit beside him, and saw how she reacted to the thunder rolling from the hills.

"Just a storm, my girl," he assured her, "You remember the story; Uncle Thor is making thunder. What you're hearing now is Mjolnir vanquishing our enemies. Is that something to fear, my Helly?"

She nuzzled into his side; more a comfort than an answer, but he smiled all the same. A large hand fell on her head, stroking it until some of the thunder has passed, and she felt brave enough to look up at him with her glimmering eyes.

Loki smiled again, "You'll make people jealous if you carry on being so beautiful."

Taking her in his arms, the God moved until his back was pressed against his pillows, cradling her head against his chest as he hummed a lullaby she knew well. It seemed to quiet the thunder. Hel pressed her cheek against his chest, her ear over his heart so she could hear it thrumming through the skin.

A wordless understanding passed between them. In some corner of her mind, Hel knew her father had been called away. She knew there was a chance he'd disappear out of her life forever. But whatever was running through her mind was made silent by the heartbeat and the lullaby, enough so that her tense joints eased and she sank into the hug.

"I love you, my girl," Loki said, his hand lying on her head as he looked up at the white ceiling.

He expected no reply. Hel hadn't spoken; she was too young, he thought, and her usually silent ways had become somewhat of a normality.

"I love you, Daddy."

Her voice reminded him of a harp playing in a silent field; beautiful, and bringing with it an ethereal sense of peace. As Loki blinked back tears in his eyes he thought of a dozen luminous moons looking down when she was born, how Asgard had stilled with the birth of their princess, and was reminded how blessed he was to have a daughter with magic in her veins.

Hel slowly fell asleep against his chest, lulled by a heartbeat she knew well, as the front door opened downstairs and he heard his wife creeping up to their room.


	3. Leaving

Hel watched her father packing his books from the hallway, listening when they thought she wasn't there. Angrboda was moaning at him about something or other – it was a wonder such a tall woman had such dependency on her husband, to the point where she claimed the house would fall while he was away.

The child watched, mesmerised, as Loki closed the leather straps of his book-holder and tied them up, patting it against his side like it was the sole protector of the universe.

"I'll be back before anything happens," he promised, eyes still fixated on his bag and not up at his wife, "Keep Helly occupied, and if any of my associates should call tell them to leave a message. There's a good chance a war will break out from this."

Angrboda's face hardened, and for a moment her red hair flared like fire, "You had me leave the Forests to raise our young! And now I cannot even persuade you to stay with Hel?"

With a look of pure exasperation on his face, Loki stared up at his wife. Her muscular frame stood over him threateningly, commanding most of the room and blocking out the light streaming through the window, but there was nothing but a sort of childish pettiness in her eyes as she put her hands on her hips. He had put up with so much from her. The men's clothing, the constant battles in their courtyard, the wolf-like tendencies that had her hunting for food in the middle of the night and the over-protectiveness of their only wolf-child, Fenrir. But he wouldn't allow her to stop his duties. Even if that meant he had to leave Hel for a few days, he'd perform a prince's role to the best of his abilities.

"Go," he instructed, "Look after our daughter, and keep her safe. I will be back before long."

Hel scampered off when she saw her father approaching the hall. She concealed herself with what little magic she could conjure, which managed to hide her feet, and hid the rest of her body behind one of the long curtains of their foyer, which was dyed a deep purple like a royal hall. There, she was able to hear her parent's footsteps.

"Are you seeing that witch Sigyn?"

"She may be there, yes."

"I'm starting to realise why you're so eager to leave."

"I am not eager; it's just my duty, and I do it with a heavy heart. Where's my daughter? Hel!" Loki could sense she was somewhere in the room. A flicker of pride went off in his heart as he imagined her mastering invisibility, but the rational part of his brain told him she was too young for that. Soon enough, her pale face peeked out from the curtains, looking up at him with those big green eyes.

Angrboda fixed her with a hard stare. Harsher than her husband, she condemned all use of magic that enabled Hel to eavesdrop, but wouldn't say anything about it until Loki had left.

As the world outside went about their days, Loki bent down to give his daughter a hug. He picked her up to let her press her face against his neck, whispering that soon he'd be home and all would be right again. There was a soft sense of disapproval radiating from his daughter, though no words fell from her, and he ended up kissing her forehead to make sure she understood just how precious she was to him.

"I will be back soon. You keep up the mischief, won't you?" he muttered to her. When he received only a wicked smile in reply, Loki placed her back down on the floor, straightening his clothes to look more presentable.

When he had left – not before calling out once more of his impending return – Angrboda turned to her daughter. Hel looked up at her, big eyes wide, as the great giant leant over and plucked her runt from the ground.

Placing her on her hip, Angrboda nuzzled into the top of her head; a place she'd designated to be where her daughter's crown would sit. It was the one place people couldn't touch when they plaited her hair.

"Your father is such a stubborn man, isn't he?" she cooed in a voice more feminine than some thought her capable, "He'll be back before tomorrow's sun, mark my words. He cannot stay away from Giantland long. Unless he meets that Sigyn, then he may be married again-"

She trailed off as a well of anger flooded in her eyes. Sigyn, Loki's former consort, was a beautiful woman of brown hair and deep blue eyes, who wore dresses that flowed like the river and could sing until even the birds were lulled to sleep. Any children she gave him would be nowhere near as beautiful as the child Sigyn could have. Even her most beautiful child Hel would pale in comparison to Sigyn's girls, and Loki would adore them far more than he adored his 'Helly.'

Hel stared up at her mother. In some ways, her silence was a comfort. Her eyes roamed over the plain features and manly skin that had carried her, taking into account the sparkling tears which were building in her eyes, before she rested her head against Angrboda's muscled shoulder. There, nestled amongst the warm scent of the Forest, Hel let a single tear-drop drip from her long lashes.

"Daddy." She muttered.

"He'll return soon enough. He must. There's no war more important than those going on here."

But Hel looked out through the window to see the Giants flittering in and out of shops, with peacefulness in abundance and calm in no shortage, and knew that a war was brewing elsewhere. Whatever wars Angrboda was talking about weren't in plain sight. They were in the form of over-dinner conversations and back-handed compliments. Asgard would never take into account how unstable this peace was.

"Fire," she whispered, so low that her mother couldn't hear her, "Fire in Giantland."


	4. What Her Dreams Reveal

The days dragged on. Loki's absence left a noticeable dent in the household's energy. Hel was palmed off to a sitter whilst her mother went fighting werewolves, and she kept a silent vigil by the door for her father's return.

It was at least a month until he did; a month in which Hel did nothing but sit and wait, refusing food and even comfort in favour of greeting Loki home. When the door clicked open, she sat up straighter, her face indifferent but her eyes gleaming.

"You misunderstand," her father didn't look at her as he walked in, too busy in a telepathic talk with someone, "I mustn't take the offering. They would trust me no more than they would Thor or Odin." Loki walked straight to his study with the book-bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't stop to pat Hel on the head or even smile at her. His eyes were too fixated on a person she couldn't see, and his mouth moved in constant dissatisfaction for whatever they were talking about.

His study door shut behind him. Hel ran up to it, pressing her ear up against the hard wood so she could hear what he was saying.

The half-conversation came in snippets, "No – that won't do. I will be present for that. You shouldn't have…yes, I understand the alternative, but…I suppose the argument will suffice."

Moments later Loki was sitting in his chair, fingers rubbing rhythmic circles into his temples as he tried to gather his thoughts. Talks about war-tactics had gone badly. They were debating whether or not it was ethical to send wave after wave of warriors with the intention of wearing out the Fire Giant's weapon supply, and so far they hadn't gotten farther than working out warriors had wives and children. It was tedious to listen to the drawling from those brave-hearts and their womenfolk.

Suddenly, he perked up. He was home, and home was where he'd wanted to be all along. The quill danced in front of him as though willing him to write something, but he brushed it aside to get up, calling out a name he had thought about since he left.

"Hel? Where are you, my girl?"

The child heard her name. She looked at the door as if she thought it had called her, and finally pushed it open to see her father standing there, a big smile on his face and his arms wide open.

Loki beamed at her. So beautiful; her pale face peering around the polished wood, big green eyes inquisitive as she gazed at him and her smile, though non-existent to most, twitched on her face like a big neon sign to the God, who walked towards her as if she were precious gold. When he finally got to her, he swung her in his arms with exuberance.

"I missed you!" he exclaimed, lifting her into the air. Her fur coat hung down with her arms, her little hands trying to grab at his face, "Where's your mother? Has she left you by yourself?"

The sound of clattering pots and pans told him there was someone else in the house, but Loki didn't bother going to see. He had his daughter back in his arms – the tedious affair of paying the sitter could be dealt with later, after they had had their reunion and Hel told him exactly what she'd been up to in his absence.

They sat in his special chair, creaking away as Hel showed him all the things she'd done. Images of horses and dreams floated in the air as purple energy, with great firework-like displays as Hel became more excited with her magic. It was the only true form of expression she had. With her face forever pale and indifferent to most, Hel let her colours shine through her magic, which was still in that delicate stage of a magic-wielder's infancy.

"What was that?" he asked when an indecipherable creature scampered in the air. It looked like a cross between a goat and a bear – standing on fawned legs, its horns spewed fire and its breath billowed out as purple smoke, marching through the common animals.

"Dreams," she said, and Loki's eyes almost threatened tears, "Demons. Monsters. They wake me up."

The God pressed his nose against her temple, "Do they, my Helly? What do they say?"

"They talk – the future." She pointed to one of the beasts, who had turned to stare right at them. Its red eyes seemed to pierce through Loki's skin as it fixed him with a hard gaze, clutching at the spear in its hands like it was born with it. Hel's hand came up again.

She gestured, and the beast began to march forward.

"I rule," Loki watched, mesmerised, "I rule them. They whisper to me. They say I'm a Queen."

"You are my princess."

"No. Not princess," she shook her head at him. It was a rare thing for Hel to tell her father he was wrong, and rarer still that she did it believing what she said, which was why Loki was suddenly staring at her as if she'd grown a second head.

The beast stormed towards them. Hel jumped from her father's lap and the thing dropped down to the floor, growing in size until it rivalled Angrboda. Loki jumped up beside her; she raised her hand to make the beast stop, cocking her head to the side as it breathed hot fire at them.

"Hel, make this thing go away." Loki commanded. She ignored him.

"It talks to me," her voice became even more eerie than it had been before, as though speaking about something that hadn't happened yet, "It calls me Mistress."

Loki glared at her again, "Hel. Make it disappear. Now."

"It's coming for me – it lives in my Realm."

Suddenly the demon was marching towards them again, but this time with no sign of stopping. Great fingers with sharp fingers clutched over the spear, brandishing it, as Loki picked up his daughter and backed away into the nearest corner. He felt the energy pulsing through her. He felt her pale skin growing hot as her magic went all over the place – books and trinkets were thrown about the room, with the pictures of Loki's three children destroyed or scattered.

In a moment of sheer terror, Loki's own magic intervened. He mentally stopped Hel – he could do that whilst she was so young, due to her inability to control her own magic and block her thoughts – and turned the beast to flame, watching as it crumpled to ash on the floor.

Heart thudding and breath heavy, the God stroked his daughter's hair. When he looked up to check if she was alright, her eyes were closed, and her heart rate had stilled to the point where for a second he thought she had died. It was only her faint snore that made him calm.

"Oh Helly," he whispered into her skin, "I'm sorry I can't protect your dreams."


	5. Hel and Her Demons

The whirling cyclone of magic surrounded her, dragging her out into a world she didn't know. Demons and beasts circled one another in an arena, armed with swords, whilst a heavy weight sat on her head, feeling cold against her pale skin.

Hel brought her fingers up to touch her cheek. The weight wasn't making her cold. It was her actual temperature, set so low she could've sworn she'd become ice, as the child watched these beasts look up at her with admiration in their eyes.

Words spilled from her frozen lips, "Let the wars begin!"

As if let loose, the demons attacked each other with everything they had in them, eyes ablaze whilst a whole coliseum of things surrounded her; their cheers said her name, over and over, like a sweet mantra turned bloody. Three-talon hands waved at her, miniature and giant, whereas sharped tooth smiles all but passed her by in favour of the bloodshed. Hel wanted to shrink away. She wanted to find her father in this hot mess. But there was no Loki where Hel was now – there was pain and death, battles and war, and the innocent child with her barely-there smile was the figurehead of it all.

"My Queen," she turned, glimpsing in the corner of her eye the sheer magnitude of these demons. They were all packed tightly together in seats made of bone, painted black, and adorned with things that looked like knives.

"My Queen?" the person talking to her was just that – not a demon or three-headed dog, a person made of flesh and bone, with a face she could attribute to the faces she'd seen. He looked at her, smiling, as his warm hand covered her own, and she realised she was sitting in a chair made entirely out of gold.

"You," she said, no thought for her words and just as surprised by them as the man was, "should pay attention to the battle, subject. Is it a mistake that I allow you to wander free of the Forest?"

He shook his obsidian hair, "No, my Queen."

"Why would I do such a thing? Answer me."

"Because I'm to lead your army."

"Watch your demons closely, subject. You need to know how they fight if you want to use them."

And with that she turned. Hel's mind flinched away where her face stayed indifferent. Armoured limbs flew towards her and she ducked away from them as though she were expecting it, which allowed her to catch more glimpses of where she was sitting.

It was like a booth; she'd been in them before, when her father took her up to Asgard and they would sit in one to watch celebrations. Once or twice she'd sat in one for a wedding. But this booth was different from those. It was stained at the top with dried blood and the edge of the sill looked gold, though it didn't glint under the dome-like rooftop. There were pictures and banners on the inside, a prayer she didn't know, reading out her name a thousand times over before it actually said anything relevant.

The whole ordeal was starting to overwhelm her. Hel, blessed with the ability to move her limbs, leapt forward without thinking, up out of her throne as she let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Hel!" she was still screaming when warm hands caught her, "Hel! What is it?! Stop! Calm down, my girl!"

Everything had melted into her new surroundings – the beasts became teddy bears sitting on her wardrobe, the coliseum becoming nothing more than a dolls house Loki had made himself. Hel found herself lying on the huge mattress of her bed, and the skin on her bones was warm.

Loki hugged her against his chest, "What is it? Another nightmare?" he whispered, so softly she thought she could actually touch his voice.

But the lingering thoughts of death and decay surrounded his toddler. She shivered in his grip as if she was a Frost Giant, pushing him away until she was sitting by herself, and looked out at the window to see the moon had risen. In all of Loki's time with his daughter, he'd never seen her look so lonesome as she did then.

"Hel?"

Moonlight glinted from her eyes. She didn't react to him in a noticeable way, but her head turned slightly, her lip quivering as she thought of those horrible creatures calling her Queen.

"Hel?" a hand touched her. She flinched away from it; the memory of her 'subject' was suddenly everywhere, to the point where she was scrabbling away from the father who loved her so.

Loki's eyes glinted in the moonlight, his worried gaze something out of a storybook. Hel felt nothing for him for that split second in her life. Instead of seeing the man she'd waited up for and revered in her own, silent way, Loki was nothing but a person who took care of her, someone she could discard of like so much cheap wine. But then her mind came flooding back as she was struck by the realisation of what she'd just thought.

"Daddy," she scampered over to him, allowing him to envelope her in a tight hug. Instantly her head went on his shoulder, and her fingers started to dig themselves in his shoulder-pads until she could feel bone.

A warm kiss was pressed to the special top of her head. "What did you dream?"

"Monsters."

"Mustn't let those monsters hurt my Helly."

Another warmth enveloped her; something golden and light, as though she was being picked up by an angel. Hel glanced up to see Loki's fingers streaming with sunrays, and then the magic dissipated back into blackness. He smiled at her.

"There – they won't be coming back for you tonight."

"What?" she nuzzled into his shoulder again, breathing in his scent as he stroked her long hair.

"You have my Ward," he explained, "And my Ward is strong enough to keep you safe, even in your dreams. It's late now. Time that you were asleep, my Helly."


	6. Broken Magic

"Hel's unwell. I can't leave her."

Loki rubbed his fingers into his eyes as the list of his duties was written out in front of him, the quill tip shimmering with his mother's magic. Frigga understood his pain, it seemed, but not to the point where she'd allow him to be absent for upcoming war-talks. All her words pointed to him leaving his daughter, who at that point was upstairs in her room, dealing with a fever brought on by her spiralling magic.

"You misunderstand me, Mother. Hel is-"

The quill silenced him by starting again. By the end of its scrawling, there stood a page-long essay, with everything saying 'you must leave her' in golden bold letters.

It was a delicate stage in Hel's life; a stage only the strongest magic-wielders went through, especially when they were born with it in their veins. Whereas some children learnt the skill through hard study, Hel would absorb and wear it like a second skin, but perhaps at a price she'd later regret. The fevers, the sickness, the constant wondering if people saw her differently…Loki knew it all well, and knew his leaving in this time would only make things worse.

Yet here was his mother, telling him that his duties to Asgard were more important than his duties to his daughter. And if he had thought for more than a moment, he would have made the right decision.

The God crept up the winding wooden steps and to Hel's room. The door was polished until it nearly gleamed from the sunlight streaming through their hallway window, the only difference from it and all the others being big, carved letters spelling 'HEL.' They were a gift, from Fenrir. He'd bargained with his masters for time with an artist, and soon after Hel's birth they had received the beautiful set of letters.

Coughing sounded from inside. He opened the door to see his daughter lying there, cheeks red as healers flocked around her and tried to stem the fever, all the while avoiding the little whips of purple emanating from her skin. The sight was so pathetic he wanted to shout. He wanted to find out who'd designed magic-wielders to experience such hardship, who was responsible for the pain his daughter was going through. But he settled for parting the healers and walking up to press his hand against her forehead, noting how her temperature had risen since he last checked.

"How is she?" he asked one of the golden-haired women with a flowery crown.

"The magic is getting uncontrollable," she admitted, though as she did a gentle hand passed across Hel's face and conjured up a glow, "Soon, it'll erupt."

"Will she survive it?"

"Yes. The room, however, will not."

"No matter. It will be rebuilt a hundred times over if that's what my girl needs. Her mother has been contacted?"

Just as he spoke, a pigeon fluttered in from the open window, a letter clasped tightly in its orange beak whilst it hopped about on its single foot. One of the women raised her plucked eyebrow, taking the letter to break the blood-red seal.

"Strange," she said, "It left with two."

Loki rolled his eyes, but occupied himself with Hel as the healer scanned through the words. If he was looking, he'd see her pure face fraught with many emotions, and none of them good, yet she managed to get them back under control before he glanced up at her.

"What does it say?" he asked, hand still pressed to Hel's cheek.

She pointed her chin to the ceiling as her eyes glassed over, "Something important came up in the Forest. Your wife has been delayed."

It was hard to tell what went through Loki's mind in that moment. Some of the healers claimed it was rage, others said it was a cold acceptance of what had happened. All they knew is that Loki left, and his daughter mewled pathetically in his absence.

Hel's thoughts erupted with all sorts of things as she watched the happenings through her mind's eye. She saw her father's feet as he disappeared out of the room, not giving her a kiss goodbye, or even looking at her. The sickness was taking her body and making her into a plaything; she could feel her magic spiralling out of control, but it took a turn for the worst as her father left the room.

"Where's he going?" asked one of the healers. They all looked the same. It was painful.

"Loki's mind is a fickle thing. Perhaps he's off to Asgard."

"The war is demanding a lot of attention. I hear they are planning an advance?" the healer pressed her hand to Hel's head, stemming some of the magic for a moment to inject her own blend of coolants, "Shh, our Princess."

Hel listened closely to what she could, provided her magic wasn't ringing in her ears. Some of the voices mixed into the whispers of ancient wielders before her, the ancestors she both had and didn't, but she was careful enough to catch some of their conversation.

"Thor and Loki are rumoured to be on the front line. Who knows how long the war will go?"

"I'm sure Queen Frigga will call us to help the efforts soon enough."

"Let it be soon. We've spent too long tending to the smaller cases; a war not only sends the brave to Valhalla, it gives us something to do."

"That being said, sister, Hel is a stronger specimen for magic. She's most certainly her father's daughter."

Loki stepped into the clearing, his mind clear of everything except the task at hand, which is why he'd left Hel to deal her magic alone. Soon, he would be on the great plains of Asgard, looking at the gleaming city of science and magic he'd grown up in. It was only once he'd been greeted by the people that he remembered his daughter, sick and lonely at home. But by then it was too late.

"Princess!" one of the healers gasped as Hel sat upright. The purple whips lashed out, and her eyes glowed a fierce emerald as she threw them away from her.

"Away!" her voice was combined with a thousand others; power and control were entwined with her very being, and at the same time they were far away from her. She was just a living conduit of energy that had yet to infuse itself with her.

"Away! Away!"

"Flier!" the lead healer cried, and out fluttered that pigeon with its tenacious wings. It dodged the purple whips as if predicting where they would go, landing on the healer's hand with a flourish of grey feathers.

She entwined on its leg an immediate letter, scrawled to Loki, and whispered a spell against its head that she hoped would make it go faster.

"She's grown restless," she explained, "Go; find our Prince. Tell him. We will try to calm her as best we can."

And as the pigeon flew out of the window and up to the skies, Hel watched it go, knowing in her heart that an unseen battle was on its way.


	7. So We Held You

Hel slept against one of her healer's bosoms, the fever ripping through her body cooling as her immune system kicked in. Her natural abilities were taking the edge off; all the magic that was springing from her was finally coming to a standstill, and soon enough it would have dived back into her blood where it belonged.

Her room, as the healers predicted, hadn't survived the attack. Everything was broken, from the wardrobe to the dollhouse, from the bed to the windows. Giants who'd heard the glass shattering had come out to see what was going on, and know a little of Hel they decided to stay away, at least until Loki had returned and told them all she was safe again.

"Is she well?" asked the lead healer, walking in with an armful of herbs and wet cloths. Her sister nodded, still clutched around the toddler as if she were her own child, that indifferent expression breaking slightly into a smile.

"I've not seen one like her," she admitted, "I thought for sure she would have died. There's so much energy still here, so much inside her – is it magic, or a curse?"

The leader began to dust back some of the debris and applied the cloth to Hel's burning cheek, "Both. She is born to be a figurehead – curse enough for a child – and now she must cope with her magic. Did you notice how she cried out?"

"For our Prince." A gentle hand soothed Hel's whimpers, sleepy and undirected, "Why did he leave?"

"Because he was angered, I suspect, and forgot about his first duty. Whatever happens in the universe is nothing. At least, it should be nothing when a child is concerned. But men have never feared too much for their children; the mothers are to blame, and our Princess's mother isn't here for her shaming."

With that they spoke no more. A soft stream of healers and magicians came in and out to make sure Hel was comfortable, and once or twice a guest visited to leave their Princess some gifts. Treats of chocolate, berries, apples – all food, and all made with the love of Idun, their orchard-girl, but nothing Hel wanted more than her father and mother.

Soon enough, she began to stir. Light pierced through her eyelids and revealed the wreckage around her. She sat to stare at what was once her room, where she'd played and gathered things she'd thought she'd needed, and then had left them in dark corners. Everything was destroyed, including the memories. But there was no sadness in her heart for the destruction; she wanted one thing and one thing only, the gentle arms of her father, who wasn't at her side.

She remembered him walking away from her, how he'd left her to deal with the issue on her own, but somehow it didn't hurt as much as it had before. Whatever anger she'd felt had been washed away to exhaustion. She could forgive someone for murdering her own mother if they offered her a present, it felt. So she settled for nuzzling her way into the healer's chest, revelling in an unfamiliar scent that was a cross between Asgard and magic, as the birdsong outside dared to start again.

"Good morning, Princess," whispered her hugger, "I hoped you would be awake soon. Do you need anything?"

"D…Father," she muttered.

"He is in Asgard, away for the war talks. He'll return soon, I'm sure. But you must want something other than him?"

And so that was how Hel had found herself sitting amongst the identical faces of the healers, sipping on a small glass of grape wine with bread and butter in front of her. She stared up at the beautiful if blank faces; they were sisters, born into a convent, with no singular mind to speak of. Imagining herself born with the same mind as her brothers, Hel lost her appetite.

Loki paced the old floor of his old bedroom, looking out at a view as old as time, wondering about his child and the new life he led. A pigeon flew in through his window with a letter clutched in its orange beak. As soon as he noticed the single, hopping leg, he snatched the letter and broke the tie, a hope in his heart that his daughter hadn't taken a turn for the worst.

The letter was short, but informative;

_Princess Hel's magic has grown at a dangerous rate. She's awake. She's violent. I fear for my sister's safety. We shall attempt to calm and subdue her, but healers can only do so much, and now she has a memory tied to her magic._

He knew what it meant, which made the pit of guilt in his stomach widen until it all but consumed him. His precious, high-maintenance little girl had tied the memory of his leaving with her magic, and that was a dangerous thing to do with one born in the bloodline. It could lead to all sorts of vendettas. It could sometimes make people dangerous, and other times it could destroy them. But a single memory couldn't do much damage, not if he was careful and attentive to his daughter's needs.

"Loki."

The door swung open to show Odin standing there, armed to the teeth with gold and all that monarch-type nonsense Loki had no time for.

"We have to go."

"I'll be right there."

"Be warned, my son," Odin's hand stopped him from slipping through the door, "If these talks go well, the best we can hope for is a short war. If they go badly, we may be looking at complete and total destruction of one of our worlds."

Loki smiled at him, removing his hand, "Let us hope they go well then. Shall we, father?"


	8. Speak, and We Will Attack

Odin stood at the head of the committee, toting his legendary staff as his beard held onto its last vestiges of colour, a smile on his face despite the tense atmosphere.

The Fire Giant's King, Surtur, had taken up the head of his own people, who were staggering red-skinned things that could easily be nine foot tall. Smiling did nothing for them. Smiles only revealed yellow teeth and a white tongue, chapping their lips until the gorges of skin were filled with blood, and they were forced to wipe it away as they glanced about the throne-room.

"I believe there's been some conflict?" Loki began, because no one had made a move for a good few minutes. Eager to return to Hel, he stood on the left side of his King rather than sat, so he could tap a rhythm out with his toes to while the time away. Great golden eyes glared at him for a second, and then turned to stare at his grey-haired monarch.

"You know what we want," Surtur said in a low tone, though it did nothing to stop his voice booming through the air, "I deserve much more than Muspelheim for my deeds. You know it's I who discovered how to grow things from the fire and make lava homes. It's I who should be leading the universe to a better, prosperous future."

Thor rubbed his fingers into his eyes, daring to pinch the bridge of his nose, because it wasn't the first time Surtur had made such claims and he'd a horrible feeling it wouldn't be the last. If Odin had just taken his suggestion to overthrow him and claim Muspelheim for themselves, they would have avoided the coming war.

On the other hand – the more sensible, cunning hand – Loki saw how a war between Muspelheim and Asgard would have helped them. Yes, they would have lost many great warriors, and both lands would feel the effects for years afterwards, but Surtur would realise he'd no business trying to claim the universe and would squirrel himself away to lick his wounds, never bothering them again with his over-inflated ego. At least, that's what a smart King would do. And with Surtur being so ancient, he was bound to be a fast learner.

The eyes were on Loki again, "You're nervous, Trickster. Perhaps you know how I would make a good King? Perhaps you wish to join my side rather than fight for an ageing, useless fool?"

Words; Loki's speciality, and he could see through every one. He saw the way Surtur's eyes gleamed and sparkled at him like he was gem. He saw how his people twitched in anticipation, glancing up to the ceiling as if they thought it would cave in on them, and then at the floor where their bare feet were leaving ash-prints. The Fire Giants had fewer resources than they claimed, he could tell. And that knowledge would be useful to him if he was sent out on the front line.

"A kind offer, but I'm afraid I've already dedicated myself to one side. Shan't be needing a new one for a few decades."

Odin glanced at him, but said nothing. In his mind a million thoughts raced, most of them on secrets long buried, whilst his face remained claim as he gazed at Surtur. The Giant was looking annoyed.

"How old is your daughter now, my Prince?"

Loki's face instantly dropped from its smirk. "Why?"

"A question, just a question. She must be growing tall by now. I hear she's the size of our children when they're born."

Laughter rippled through the red forest of Giants, and Loki felt an uncharacteristic rage start to build on his face. His eye twitched, his nostrils flared and a slight burn erupted through his belly, like he was staring at a rival in the midst of a war.

Surtur's yellow teeth were bared when he smiled, "How I wonder if magic is such a gift? For such a little girl, she must be under such strain, such pressure to make you happy. And that wife of yours – Angrboda. She does love her wolf-spawn, doesn't she?"

"You'll say no more about my family." Loki's voice was on edge. The muscles in his neck were flexing. Odin watched both astonished and dismayed, as a battle of words between Surtur and his son would only bring their war closer.

"Fenrir – such a title! For such a pitiful, grey-furred puppy…"

A spark of green magic erupted from the platform and roared down into the crowd. Surtur despite his height went flying, colliding into a column that stood behind his people as they scrambled to get out of the way. It fell with a ground-shattering thud, and Loki only half-thought about how he looked as he exhaled through his mouth, crouching with his arm outstretched and knees at a right-angle. Some would later claim there was smoke coming out of his fingertips.

"A hit!" coughed Surtur, "And a good one, too! But don't fear, Loki – that won't be the last encounter we have."

He got up with great effort and looked up at Odin, smirking, making little rings in the air as he signalled for his people to retreat. The King could only watch them slowly filter from his hall and disappear to the Bifrost Bridge.

"It seems a war is the only thing to settle this. Mark my words, King Odin, Odinsons – I will have that crown, and all of these Nine Realms will belong to Muspelheim. I have made so much; what makes you think I can't make more?"

And with that, he was gone. Walking through the hall he laughed so hard that he could have ruptured an organ, and the great doors shut behind him like the drums of war. Loki, though still heavy with rage, turned to his father, who looked at him with a sort of sad understanding.

"You should not have done that."

"Was I just to stand by and let him speak about my children?"

"They are not here, but they will be affected by this war, as will all the Nine Realms. You must keep a cool temperament when it comes to the Fire Giants, Loki. They are impatient things."

"I would like to see how you would react if it were Thor he spoke about."

Loki disappeared from the hall in a flash of green light. Thor looked on at the empty space where his brother had stood, knowing he had gone to Heimdall, and knowing he was going back to Hel.


	9. Stab in the Dark

Giantland was, for the most part, asleep. The sky was a flurry of stars, each one sparkling as Loki walked up to the grand courtyard of his home, and the flowerbeds bent in the breeze to usher him towards his front door. All was quiet apart from the sound of crickets and wild wolves, the sight to shatter this peace being Hel's bedroom window, which was broke.

Glass shards glinted in the pouring moonlight. They gave the whole place an eerie feel as he stepped on the familiar concrete path, his mind a cyclone of rage and sadness, his heart heavy with guilt.

"Hel?" he called when he opened the oak door. Silence met his words. There was nothing in front of him except the foyer's never ending darkness, stretching far back to swallow everything he owned, with no hint to tell him where his precious daughter could be.

A noise – like a falling apple – thudded in the kitchen. Loki turned and made sure to shut his door before he went to investigate, though he was certain no giant would be fool enough to trespass. If the stories of his tricks weren't enough to stop them, the demonstrations were.

"Who goes there?" he asked to solid blackness. From the light shedding through the window, he could make out the shadow of kitchen counters and a single, sharpened bread-knife stabbed through a chopping board, but nothing else. His knowledge was the only thing keeping him from tripping over something.

More silence. Loki would be damned if that became a theme. He moved forwards, narrowly avoiding a stool left by one of the healers, and was sure to snatch the bread-knife up in case of a fight. His emerald eyes reflected the moon still streaming through his window, as though they were pools of green water that hid ancient secrets.

The knife blade shone in the light too, almost menacingly so. As he approached the pantry where faint scuffles could be heard, Loki readied the blade up, intent to make it a quick death if his intruder dared attack him.

"Whoever you are, you best-"

A candle suddenly sprang to life as Loki threw open the ajar pantry door. He stopped in his tracks, dropping the knife in his hand when he was confronted with Hel, who had her head cocked to one side and a half-eaten apple in her hand, eyes calm as she gazed up at her father.

"Helly," he smiled so wide that his teeth were bared, "There you are. Why didn't you come when I called you? No matter now – you're looking well again."

She didn't reply to him, but when he hoisted her up from the floor and put her head against his shoulder she nuzzled in, as though welcoming him home in her own little way. There was comfort in Loki's scent. He was familiar, sturdy and towered above her, vowing to protect her in every way, no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else. If Angrboda were the one threatening her, Hel knew he would kill his wife without a second thought.

But Loki could feel the anxiety and energy still thrumming through Hel's skin, and took a deep breath before saying, "Did you dream again, my girl?"

He felt her nod.

"Were they nightmares?"

She nodded again.

"Do you want to tell me about them?"

A moment of complete silence passed. It seemed as though Hel had gone to sleep; her breathing slowed and her eyes shut, thinking about the terrible things she had seen, before they opened again and she found her voice.

"Demons," she said, and felt an imperceptible shudder pass through her father, "War."

"War? What war? The war between Asgard and Muspelheim?" he pulled her back to stare into her big, knowing eyes. They shone with a sense of being he knew some would kill to have.

She shook her head again, "Midgard. Midgard and Asgard. Asgard and Father. Wars."

"Just dreams, my girl – Midgard worships Asgard, and I love my home."

"Home is Giantland. With me."

She entwined her fingers with his, making him remember how tiny she was, and that brought him back to the discussion between him and Surtur. Fire Giants were indeed born Hel's height, and they grew much taller than she would. A small part of him wished she was as tall as an Asgardian palace, so strong she could total bridges and bring entire Realms to their knees, but another part loved Hel the way she was, with all of her little fingers and small smiles, and the adorable way she cocked her head when she was gaging someone's reaction.

"Yes. Home is with you, my girl."

"You smell like war."

That was an odd thing coming from Hel. She often smelt things on Loki – cinnamon, warm oil, blood, magic – but rarely did she smell something with no substance, something that technically was a deed and not a thing. As those huge eyes looked at him and her nostrils flared once to double-check, he knew lying to her would do no good.

Sighing, he said, "Yes. I was in an argument today. Surtur disagreed with me."

"Surtur is King. The Fire Giants have their King."

"And he believes everyone else should appoint him King, too. I trust this war will stop him from thinking that. But you know these giants," he tickled her under her chin, "They have such stubborn heads."

The rest of the night passed peacefully as Loki went about his tasks, picking up the bits and pieces that were left of Hel's room and making sure the entire place was sectioned off from her. It took a magical ward and a good deal of energy, but soon enough the area was forbidden, and Hel's eyes glittered with mischief when she saw it.

"Don't you try any of your tricks with me, Hel. I know how tempting this is. But it's for your safety, and I'm one step ahead of you when it comes to that."

The front door clicked open again as Loki worked. His wife's voice sang through the bright candle lights, humming something about a dead wolf and new pelt, whilst the stairs creaked with her enormous weight.

He would have to tell her what had happened. And after he'd told her, he would have to go back to Asgard. Hel looked up at him as he thought this, her eyes glinting as if she knew, before she turned and began to help him pick up the last of her teddy bears.


	10. Stay Safe

The argument between Angrboda and Loki was the stuff of legends. Hel heard them all the way at her friend's house, screaming as though they were arch enemies and their home was really a battleground. Angrboda attacked everything Asgard stood for; she belittled their warriors and mocked their wives, all the while telling Loki his loyalty laid with her and their children.

By the time Hel went home, her parents weren't speaking to one another. Her father was packing away his books and Angrboda, in an act of petty rage, turned her back on him, sauntering out soon after her daughter returned to fight some werewolf or other. The air of tension hung heavily over the foyer as Hel tiptoed towards the study, where Loki was busy throwing his books into a haphazard pile.

"Asgard's warriors are nothing but children," he muttered under his breath, "Yes, because you've proved your strength so many times, dear. No one else can have the muscles you do – and yes, wives are so weak because their arms are feminine! I agree totally with you and your gargantuan-"

In the media of his sarcastic monologue, Loki caught sight of his daughter peering round the door, watching him as if he were a play and she was the intrigued audience. He saw no fear or hatred in her eyes. There was just a calm acceptance of what had happened as she peered at his bag, already heaving with books.

"Hello," he smiled, but she didn't smile back. Her pale skin glimmered with the curiosity that was hidden from her eyes, underneath a veil of indifference she'd mastered at an alarming rate. "Do you need something?"

"Leaving."

He stiffened; he'd hoped he would be able to break the news to her gently, over her favourite dinner and after a fun day out, but it seemed Hel had figured him out. The war, whenever it was, was coming faster than they thought. And Loki was determined not to let them suffer the consequences.

"Yes, I am." His voice was soft, almost apologetic. His eyebrows rose as he leaned down on his desk, a sad smile on his face, lines appearing on his forehead like the words in a book.

Hel moved further from the door, so about half her face was showing rather than just an eye, "War. You're going."

"I am."

"Oh."

It wasn't an 'oh' of surprise. It wasn't an 'oh' of sadness. It wasn't an 'oh' of indescribable rage. It was just an 'oh.' For a moment Loki felt peeved, like his daughter didn't care that he was about to go into a warzone and there was a possibility he could be hurt – slight, but a possibility nonetheless – yet when he looked into her big green eyes, there was a glimmer of fear there, something deep and meaningful that young Hel couldn't put into words. She hid her face away again when her father moved towards her, his footsteps a rhythmic beat against the floor and his face soft.

"I'll return soon," he promised, crouching down and stretching his arms out to offer her a hug. Hel only watched him.

The sight was a sad one. The daughter Loki loved so much was staring at him as if he were a criminal, watching his every move like she would run away if he made the wrong one. He looked at her with an inviting smile all the same, his arms still stretched as he shifted his weight to his heels and crouched there waiting for her.

Eventually, Hel gave in.

Enveloping her in his arms, Loki picked her up and planted a soft kiss atop the special place on her head. It calmed her to know her father still loved her. But there was that looming giant of war on the horizon, painting the sky red and turning the sun to stone, which wouldn't leave them until either Asgard or Muspelheim lay in ashes. That was the price of fighting. It left men dead, wives without husbands and children without fathers. Hel couldn't imagine a world without her father, much as she struggled to admit it; she loved him, and he loved her, and the bond between them was so solid that it felt only death could part them.

"Are you scared?" he asked her.

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes."

"I will be fine, my princess," he promised, trying to put as much sincerity into his words as there was in his body, "I'll be gone for a few months, but at every opportunity I get I'll send you letters. Letters, presents, gems, weapons; anything I can get from those Fire Giants taking me away. How does that sound?"

She didn't reply to him. Hel was lost in a world only her father's scent could take her, revelling in the safety that soon would be gone, and remembered only partly the ward he'd put on her. She trusted in the ward. She hoped that it would keep him as safe as it did her.

"Daddy."

He looked, seeing her raise her hand and cast a purple spell at him. He watched, mesmerised as the colour streamed from fingers, encasing them both for a moment, little beads of sweat forming on her head whilst she tried to keep up the pace.

"Ward," her voice was laced with effort when the magic died down, "My ward. It will keep you safe. Like mine."

He smiled at her, "Yes, it will."

No one had the heart to tell Hel she hadn't yet mastered a ward, which took so much concentrated energy she hadn't the hope to do it. Not while all of her magic was all over the place, still so wild in her blood that it came out in her sleep.

"I must keep packing," he put her on the floor, brought out of his reverie by thought of his duty, "You may stay here if you'd like. I'm sure there are books I need your help to get."


	11. Gone

And so, on a day with stormy skies and rain pouring down, Loki walked into the Forests armed with his books and sceptre, knowing that he could have been leaving his home for the last time. His daughter was asleep. He didn't want her there, not to watch him go, just in case he never returned and she was left with that sad, sorry memory of him disappearing into the Bifrost Bridge.

But his daughter had awoken due to a bad dream, and the storm outside kept her up despite her attempts to sleep. The memory of half-formed demons haunted her thoughts. Even as she glanced across to her mother, the great hulking mass of muscle and skin that had kept her warm for nine months, she couldn't find peace.

That's when she noticed her father wasn't there. She was sure he had come to bed that night – she remembered him curling up around her and singing soft lullabies into her hair, stroking the untamed raven locks like she was a jewel. If there was anything she knew – and that wasn't much considering the vast wealth of knowledge out there – it was that Loki wouldn't have just disappeared without a good reason, and that made her get out of her bed to go see where he'd gone to.

The foyer was cold and dark, with the candles blown out as if someone had lit them only moments ago. Smoke rose where there had once been flame. It drifted into the still air whilst Hel went to the small rectangular windows standing sentinel at her door. As she peered out of them, her breath fogging up the glass so much that she had to wipe it, she caught sight of a strange, obsidian haired man walking down her pathway, a bag swinging at his side and her father's sceptre clutched in his hand.

Her heart sank. He was leaving without bidding her farewell. But she had something to say to him, something she needed to say or else she felt she would cry.

Hel opened the door just in time to see Loki walking into the Forest, and donning her long winter coat she ran after him. The black fur snagged against twigs as she raced on her little legs, her voice lost to her and the rain sticking her hair to her forehead like some hideous fool. But, whilst Loki was so far in front of her, she didn't care. All she wanted was to wave him off, one last time.

Lightning forked across the sky. Charcoal black clouds were illuminated for a moment, but just a moment, before they darkened once more. All sense of normality was destroyed as Hel carried on running, narrowly avoiding a pothole which almost claimed her foot, missing huge thick branches by mere inches as she pelted through the lanes. Her father was still ahead of her. His legs were much longer, his thoughts more clouded, which was why he hadn't noticed his favourite child running after him with her big glimmering eyes, where oceans of tears were threatening to fall.

"I'm sorry, my princess," he muttered under his breath, "But I will be back. This is only precaution. I can't leave you without a father – not you."

Talking to himself calmed him; at least to the extent he could be calm. When he thought about things they could get jumbled up in his head, mixing in with duties long forgotten and failings that happened years ago. If he voiced everything he said and allowed himself the time to think about them, study them, it was easier to make the right choice.

"Daddy…Daddy…" Hel's feet were bleeding. Rocks and twigs had scraped her sole's soft skin until all that was left were muddy, open wounds, pouring out with a crimson river. The rain did little to stop the flow. In fact, it intensified it, as if there were a demon watching over Hel who'd decided her idyllic life was at its end. What destiny could await a Stunted Giant? A Stunted Giant whose father was about to leave, mother favoured her brother and her brothers, though loyal to her, gone, like some relics of a time she'd never experienced. Her ward was enough to protect him - she'd felt the energy leave her - but there was still that niggling doubt that she'd lose the one person she truly loved, and that was enough to make her race through the pain.

Loki stopped in a clearing, surrounded by trees which bent in the wind and moaned like dying warriors. A single sigh passed through his lips. He loved the trees; they were beautiful in the spring with their blossoming flowers, magnificent in summer when they gave shade, and in autumn and winter they were the glorious reminders that soon the cold would die and the warmth would return. Now, they had been warped. And he'd a sneaking suspicion that the trees in Muspelheim were going to be much uglier than the trees in Giantland.

"Heimdall!" he called above the din, "I'm ready!"

In an instant, the clearing was flooded with a white-hot beam of light, mixed in with the colours of the rainbow. The trees were blown out of the ground and smashed against their neighbours. Hel, having just scampered to the very edge of this madness, stayed behind one of the thicker oaks, but when she saw her father about to disappear she ran towards him.

Loki caught sight of her mouth moving. He screamed out; he shouted at her to stay back, that it was dangerous, but with all the noise going on around him and the storm raging above he hadn't a chance to catch what she was saying. As the molecules in his body were scrambled and he was beamed up, he still hadn't figured out what his Hel was screaming.

"Remember!" she shouted, "Remember to come back! Remember to come back for me!"

Hel watched as the Bifrost Bridge disappeared. Beams of light died, and slowly all that could be heard was the thunder rolling from the hills.


	12. On the Front Lines of Muspelheim

The first letter they received was from the front line, sealed tightly by red wax and speckled with droplets of blood. Hel was the main addressee, and what little Loki spoke to his wife was always telling her of battle victories; it was something that didn't escape Angrboda's notice, but she let it slide for her daughter's excited little face.

A small envelope came with it. Inside was a tiny stone which sparkled in the sunlight – an amethyst, if she recalled her lessons on precious gems – and as she held it up to catch the rays streaming through their dining room window, the letter was read to her again;

_To my girls at home;_

_The war has started and grown fast – faster than anyone could have imagined. Thor is constantly on the front line trying to stem the flow of Fire Giants, but it seems Muspelheim is a never-ending river, and the cracks in our defence are widening. I have done my best to seal them. Only yesterday I had a squealing Fire Giant in my thrall, begging me to release him and in return he would tell me his people's secrets. That Fire Giant is now in Asgard's dungeon and has been true to his word, but it seems Surtur didn't trust him too much; we've gained little knowledge, yet what we have gained has spoken volumes._

_Angrboda, I single-handedly am responsible for the breaking down of Muspelheim's first attack. They tried to sneak up on us through the hills, but I saw them before they could rain their arrows upon our warriors. Their General – Gunnarr – attempted to kill our brave she-warrior Alaisiagae. From what I gather, Gunnarr is rather lucky to have escaped with half his limbs._

_My Helly; how are you? Do you like the gemstone? It's an amethyst – your uncle Thor found it when we were climbing one of the many fire-hills, and I thought it the perfect way to show you how beauty can still exist in a place so ugly. Doesn't it gleam? It reminds me of the sun in the harvest months, when our Giants work the fields, and how you skip through them with your friends after I've let you out to play. It is such a pretty stone, my girl. Won't you take care of it for me?_

_There are stranger things still in this Realm. Last night it was my turn to watch the border between our forces and Muspelheim, and I swear I saw an eagle stretching wings as big as towers on the hilltop, with a squawk so loud I was surprised it woke no one up. Before I could call someone to see the beast it flew off; the wind that followed it knocked me off my feet, it was so strong. By the time I had scrambled back up, it was gone. I haven't seen it since. It's such a strange thing, is it not? That something so big and wonderful could just disappear like that, as if it had never existed, and no one would believe you if you were to talk about it?_

_I must finish up now. The war is just brewing back to its fever. One last thing before I go – your ward, my Helly, has kept me safe. I've hardly been scratched since my arrival here. When I return with no broken bones, it will be your doing._

_Love and best wishes;_

_Loki, Prince of Asgard._

The gory details of the war inspired Angrboda to go out soon and pick off another one of those werewolves still roaming around the forest, but for Hel there was nothing but sadness. She believed her father when he spoke about the eagle, and to think that something so delightfully strange and magnificent could just vanish made her wonder if there really was a reason to be beautiful.

She saw beauty wherever she went. Loki had taught her to, even when the sky was black and rain was pouring all over the land. He taught her to see the roses it would bring and the trees that were being fed; he taught her to see the universe as a continuous stream of beauty disguised as ugliness, and the lessons had brought her to understand why he loved art. But, from the words in his letter, it seemed no one else shared her sentiments, and would rather view their Realms as two-dimensional shades of black and white, with beauty being one shade and ugliness being the other.

"Well, that's something," Angrboda pulled Hel onto her lap, bouncing her knees so she was thrown into the air, "Your father does give the oddest gifts, does he not? If I left him alone for a minute, he would bring you back the entire hills of Muspelheim. Come; let's go to the market."

And so they went about their days as ordinarily as they could. Hel played in the fields with friends who towered over her, speaking little words of pride that her father was in the war, and Angrboda busied herself in the marketplace where they were selling new weapons, pretty dresses and a large assortment of wolf-pelts. It was only from a few glances and saddened whispers that they knew anything was different. By the time they went home, as the sun began to dip behind the horizon and the moon raised its great luminous head, Hel realised something that she hadn't really thought about before.

There was a chance – however small – that her father wouldn't return from the war. He could have been killed or kidnapped or even maimed. The thought made her distant during dinner and cold with her mother, who for some reason was proud that her husband had walked off into battle, when not a few days beforehand she was telling him it was a war not worth it.

Loki laid on his bare bed in the 'trenches.' He called them that because they were like deep fissures in the black rock of Muspelheim, hiding their forces to the extent that they could rest without constant fear of being spotted. His thoughts were back in Giantland, where he hoped his daughter had received the amethyst, and his heart went out to her as he thought about what her friends must have been talking about.

"Brother," Thor's voice called out in the darkness, "It's time. The Fire Giants are coming back. Let us go."


	13. Song for the Ages

Hel was dreaming.

She knew she was dreaming, because there was no longer a storm brewing outside her window and her face wasn't stained by tears, and somewhere in the distance she could hear a familiar voice singing – a male voice with just a hint of Asgardian accent. The warm smell of bacon surrounded her as she slid from her bed, caressed by the sunlight streaming in through her window, enveloping her as if she were the single most important girl in the world.

Hel walked down the stairs slowly. The voice became clearer, and soon enough the words began to make sense to her sleep-muddled ears.

"_My life and love; my heart and soul,"_ they sang, "_My wife and child; my gift and gold. I love you dearly, need I tell, the world is brighter, with you my girl."_

It was a special, secretive song which had never been heard by human ears, never sung by tavern bars or rehearsed by warrior-poets; it was a song that only Loki knew, because Loki was the one who had come up with it. Hel rushed down the stairs, avoiding the tassels of her dressing gown which had materialised out of thin air, and ran into the kitchen to see her father standing there, his arms laden with dough and his face a mess of flour.

"_Of shapes and stars I call divine – of hearts and minds I claim mine – there is no better nor more desired, than the heart of her, my magic child. So if I fall to her sweet charm, and her sweet smile that does unarm, I bid no ignorance and claim no pride; she is my child, my girl, my life."_

The Trickster turned. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and, as a smile spread across his face, he put the dough back on the counter, allowing it to ooze over the side like sea foam. Hel raised her arms up, her own smile bright, whilst Loki picked her up and gave her his signature squeeze.

"I was wondering if you were awake," he told her, "I hoped you were."

Little crystal tears pricked her eyes. The sunlight grew stronger as Loki pressed her face against his shoulder, humming to her fragments of his song, and for a moment all seemed right. It was a world she wanted to get lost in and become a part of for the rest of her life. But soon enough she felt the scene dissolving, and her father's face looked at her with a smile as it began to fade away.

"Miss you."

"Wait for me, my Helly," he promised as he pressed a final kiss to her forehead, cold yet comforting, "Daddy will come back. I have to. You're still my home."

A lightning strike crashed through the sky, accompanied by thunder, which woke Hel up to her parent's dark room. All was shed in an eerie white glow for a split second as she sat bolt upright, clutching at her heart, calling out for a father who wasn't there.

"Daddy!"

There was no answer. Even Angrboda had left her in favour of hunting – not because she was a bad mother, but because she was a good leader. How could she leave her people to battle such fearsome creatures just because her daughter needed her? It was unjust; it was a violation of all Angrboda held dear, and she knew Hel would understand if she left her for the hunt.

But in that dark room of familiar sights and sounds, shrouded by darkness, Hel whimpered out for a parent who wouldn't come, and a small fragment of her heart withered until it became black.


	14. The Danger in Giantland

Surtur peeked over the plans for protecting Muspelheim. They were all very predictable – taking out the Asgard's defensive front line, killing Thor and Loki as examples, invading their lands in a back-up plot which wasn't necessarily needed but was always good to have – none of them struck him as something a strategic King would do, not if he wanted more than just five minutes on the throne.

The great giant leaned back in his black-rock throne, his famed and most reputable warriors standing on the floor below the platform in wait for their orders. He rubbed his eyes with a sense of weariness about him.

"You think these plots are enough? They look to be written by children!" he criticised, and a few of the warrior's heads dropped to look at the burnt floor, their feet scuffing the glowing red cracks which occasionally hissed out steam, "Kill Thor? Kill Loki? And just how do you think we should do that?! These aren't plans; they are your failures!"

The room they stood in was just like Asgard's throne-room, apart from the fact it was black and had the cracks running all along the columns and floor, like a volcano seconds away from erupting. Here they had made plot after plot to gain the upper-hand on Odin, but none of them had come to fruition, and slowly Surtur was beginning to see the huge hole in his war. The rock of his throne was biting into his skin as he glared at the warriors below him.

One of the younger men – a boy really, not old enough yet to have his golden eyes glowing wisdom – took a step forward, and Surtur took notice of him for the brave move. There were stories of how the King would have people killed for such brashness. But those stories were mostly tales; it seemed the boy didn't know that as he shivered under the great giant's gaze.

"Sire," he said in a small voice, almost inaudibly, "Might I make a suggestion?"

Surtur waved his arm in the air, "Speak."

It seemed like a hundred eyes had turned to him. The warrior shuffled on his feet, unnerved by the elders that were staring down at him and the youngers staring up, wondering if his plan would be ridiculed or revered after he'd revealed it.

"Well," barked one of the older giants, who loomed over him like an oak would a palm tree, "Spit it out, then."

Taking a deep breath, he began, "Loki attacked you, sire, when you spoke of his children."

Surtur's eyes peered at him, a menacing tone hidden beneath the faint interest. He was careful with his words.

"That's what initiated the war."

"Yes. But we were looking for war in the first place. What's the relevance of this?"

"Now that Loki's on the front line, sire, his home has been left without guard. If I might suggest; his wife and daughter are still there, my King."

A sudden hush swept through the crowd. As if cursing themselves for not thinking about it sooner, the elders shuffled on their feet, their eyes directed at the floor so they wouldn't have to look at Surtur. The King stared down at the boy in front of him – the brave red-skinned giant, who at this point he was considering making one of his leading soldiers – and he smiled. His yellow teeth almost glinted in the cracked rock's glow.

"This," he gestured towards the boy, "This is the future, my warriors. This boy – what is your name?"

"Orvar, sire."

"Orvar," he grinned again, the name rolling off of his tongue like smooth silk, "For this, I will have you known as my most honourable warrior. Why did none of you think of this? Of course Loki will have left his family defenceless; he's the Trickster! He believes his wife to be strong enough to protect them! Men!"

The giant rose to his full height. They looked at him as he descended the glowing red stairs, his eyes like gleaming headlights out in the dank air of his throne-room, and waited until he was only a few steps above them until they began to move back. It was respectful; they would never have their pathetic hides so close to their King, not when they had disappointed him so. Yet one of the knowledgeable elder warriors pushed Orvar forward, and he almost smiled when he saw the boy look up in terror at his King.

Surtur reached out to clutch his warrior's chin, tilting it upwards so he could stare into those frightened eyes. There were hints of awe hidden behind his fear. Awe for the power and authority Surtur commanded, the way he could silence an entire crowd just by getting up. Another smile stretched across the King's lips as he gently moved Orvar's face back and forth.

"You will be in charge of the attack on Giantland. I want body count high, and enough prisoners to integrate into our dungeons. Make it clear to Asgard we're not afraid to take our own."

A wave of excitement washed over the boy as he nodded his head.

"Do not kill Angrboda; I want her to be in my servitude, cleaning wolves' hair for a living – do you understand me?"

Another nod of the head, another wave of excitement. Opportunities rarely came up in Muspelheim, where the sky was forever red and the only weathers were storm or hot, dry sunlight, and to have something so important wander into his lap made Orvar's world just a little bit more stirring. He didn't care that he had to take lives and butcher families; all he cared about was being recognised by his King, the brave and fearsome Surtur.

"And what of Hel, sire?" asked a smaller, more ancient giant, who was younger than his King but was considerably more wizened. It was the nutrition, he was sure – Surtur had the best cuts of meat and his choice in fruit, which he took greedily and stocked until his pantries were full.

Surtur turned. His great eyes gleamed with menace as he looked down at the people, his warriors.

"I want Hel dead," he muttered, "And her body paraded on our front lines. Make it so."


	15. So the Battle Horns Blew

On a seemingly calm early morning in Giantland, when the sun was filtering through the trees and the storms had left dew-drops on all the webs, Hel walked through the Forest, her arms clutched around a tiny wooden box and her big eyes fixed in front of her. Birds could be heard flittering in the leaves above; a single chirping kept her company as she wandered, walking along a barely-there dirt track she'd been wearing into the ground.

The clearing Loki had left for the war in was now her favourite place to be. Hel would sit there for hours going through his recent gifts, waiting for the day when the Bifrost was cast again and her father was returned to her, but so far that hadn't come. Expectant green eyes glanced up to the sun, a smaller one beside it which wasn't as strong, and took her seat on a charred tree stump to open up the box.

It was filled with all of Loki's gifts, themselves ranging to precious stones and letters intercepted by Asgard's fine warriors. Her father's own letters were tied up by a red ribbon to the side of these gifts, well-thumbed, and for a moment she thought about when she would be getting another one – it had been at least two months since Loki's last message, which had told her the front lines were advancing and he might have been busy for some time.

A movement in the distance caught her eye. Hel looked up, her fingers tight on her gifts as if she thought someone would steal them, before she shook her head and looked back down. Another movement had her standing on the tree stump, narrowing her eyes to peer into the thick swath of trees in front of her, her toes hanging off the edge as she stretched her arms back and craned her neck further out.

"Daddy?" she called with a bloom of hope in her chest.

The ground trembled as three huge figures stepped forward, and Hel's face dropped when she glimpsed red skin and yellow teeth. In an instant she was running, the trees around her a jumping maze as her pursuers grew in number and trampled the plants into the ground. It was through sheer speed and agility that Hel managed to stay away from them, and from her knowledge of the Forest that she managed to get further ahead. She knew what was happening. She didn't need to see their weapons or hear the battle horn. The Fire Giants had come to Giantland.

They were under attack.

As she exploded out of the Forest, Hel made a direct path through the marketplace. Giants jumped out of the way with arms laden full of merchandise, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"Fire Giants!" she cried, and the eeriness of her voice was enough to make them listen, "Fire Giants in the Forest! Attack! Protect!"

And then she was gone again, leaving in her wake a confused but hurrying populace of Giants as they abandoned their wares and made a beeline to their weapons. Hel only had one place in mind, her arms still clutched over her wooden gift-box as her heavy feet carried her back home.

By the time she had raced inside and slammed the door shut, Angrboda had already heard the news. How Hel didn't know, but she took it as a good sign when she saw her mother walking through the house with her trusty spear and shield, muscles bulging so much that they looked like they would explode.

"Hel!" she cried, and dropped her weapons so she could snap the girl up in her arms, "You've done a good job warning everyone. If your father were here, he'd be so proud of you. But now's not the time for that. I want you to hide."

The girl's big eyes stared up at her, her mouth a hard frown, "No."

"Yes. If you were hurt, Hel-"

"My home. Daddy's home. I will fight. We will win."

There was no room for discussion. A small burst of pride went off in Angrboda's heart as she nodded at her daughter, setting her down on the floor so she could snatch up her spear and shield again. One soft kiss on Hel's head later, the pair walked out of their luxurious foyer, ready to face whatever horrors had gone on outside.

The sky was already painted red. In the brief time Hel and Angrboda were talking, the Fire Giants had rained themselves down upon the Giants, and slowly families were beginning to be separated. Hel looked in horror as she saw some of her friends being herded into corners and their fathers trying to get them back, only to be dragged off somewhere for death. A few brave warriors were fighting – these clashes stayed mostly in the centre of the land, where the ground was soaked with blood and dead livestock littered the ground, different Giants' feet embedded with bits of pottery.

A single tear ran down Angrboda's face as she butted Hel back with her spear. The message, however non-verbal, was obvious. Giantland was lost. But they could still fight for their home, still keep some sense of pride and dignity about them and perhaps keep the one place they had left. Hel charged up whatever magic she could; it spurted out of her fingers in an uncontrollable fountain, and by the time the Fire Giants had noticed them she'd already set fire to the trees in their courtyard.

"Hel!" she turned to her mother, who pressed her lips once more to the forehead in a cold, sad kiss, "Whatever happens here today, remember that I love you."

The Fire Giants broke down their gate. The iron was thrown to the side as red-skinned creatures flooded into their courtyard, and Angrboda dived straight into the thick of the fighting without hesitation. Hel kept herself on the front step, her fingers sparking purple energy which kept most of the Giants away, as the world outside descended into chaos.

Soon enough, she'd lost all sight of her mother. A fireball was cast towards her and she threw herself out of the way, but not before her hands were hit. She hid them behind her back and used her mind to cast the magic instead. This was much more uncontrollable, to the point where she didn't know if she was protecting the house or killing her people, but no matter what the answer Hel carried on doing it because there was nothing else left.

A young Fire Giant sped towards her at lightning speed, and before she could shock him with her magic Hel was picked up and thrown to the side. Loki's Ward kicked in as a sort of force-field; she hit a support beam for her house, but green energy surrounded her and the house came tumbling down to the ground, destroyed, and on top of the young princess.

"Orvar!" cried one of the elder warriors, "You were supposed to bring back her body!"

The younger warrior turned to glare at him, a hint of authority in his eyes.

"Hel's dead!" he called, "And unless you want to be shifting rubble we might as well leave her here! Everyone!"

The invading Fire Giants slowly began to settle down to their new commander's voice. Orvar had changed in the few short months he'd been given power. Instead of the usual skittish exterior, he was now a hardened force to be reckoned with, as cruel and unforgiving as Surtur and his handful of consorts; his eyes burned holes in the warriors he'd once called friends, and an imperceptible shiver ran through them as they began to tie up their hostages.

Angrboda, with her hands tied behind her back and her own spear pointed at her throat, gazed at the house she'd called her home. This was the place she had given birth and raised all of her children. It was the place she'd come back to after a hard day's hunting. Now it was nothing but rubble, all the possessions within destroyed, and somewhere underneath it…a tear ran down her face. She hadn't just lost a battle; not a home, either.

Angrboda had just watched her daughter die.

Orvar raised his hand into the bloody sky, "We've done what we set out to do! Take the hostages and whatever supplies you can! Gifts for our wise King!"

He trampled forward, stopping when he reached the cluster of Giants around Angrboda. The trail of wet down her face ended at the round, glinting tear that dangled from her chin, and for a moment Orvar softened, but then his face grew hard again and he sneered.

"The sacrifices our proud King must make," he snarled into her ear, hot breath grazing her cheek, "Hel is not the first, nor shall she be the last. Your precious Loki should have kneeled when he'd the chance. Her blood is on his hands."

Hours later, the Fire Giants were dragging their hostages into the Forest, leaving in their wake a devastated world. Houses once so tall were burned to the ground. A few chickens still clucked over the remains of the marketplace. Loki's manor was nothing but rubble and snapped wood, all magic within it leeched out.

A whip of green sent one of the large supports flying. The energy disappeared again, and in the cleared space underneath all that debris – fitted between a cushion and a counter – Hel lay with eyes closed, her cheeks bruised, but alive. Green magic hugged her tiny body close as the sky began to turn back to a normal colour, and a bird landed on one of the jutting pieces of wood which stood over her.

Its song rang softly in the still, quiet air.


	16. To a Grieving Father

"No…"

Loki set down the report in his hand, staring at the people sitting across from him in a state of shock. Odin looked at him, his face blank, as Thor gazed with sad eyes at the brother he loved, the sorcerer he'd brought away from his family to fight their war.

"No…" he repeated.

"The message doesn't lie, Loki. Surtur himself sent it. He considers it a warning strike." Odin picked up his own copy of the report, which was littered with half-legible scrawls. With an even voice and a steady hand owing to many years of practice, he read, "You may have my armies at bay, Odinsons, but can you protect your own? It seems not."

The entire universe was spinning. Loki's heart thudded in his chest as his fingers ghosted over the report, wanting to know what happened but being squeamish of the details, wishing beyond everything he'd stayed to protect his home. It seemed to him that the darkness lingering in the corners was suddenly creeping up to them, and for a moment he felt a surge of energy to jump up and run, but there was no running from reality. Outside of that little tent they were sitting in, there was nothing but war and pain.

"My…Angrboda?" he asked in a small voice. He prayed she hadn't been found. He prayed she'd been in the Forest at the time and, by some miracle, the Fire Giants hadn't gone after her.

"Taken hostage." Thor's eyes looked softly at his brother, as though even a glance could shatter the ghost-white face Loki was wearing.

"The people?"

"Prisoners or dead," a large hand touched Loki's, "For their sake, I hope the latter is true."

The God was trying to avoid the question. From the first few paragraphs of the report, and the general atmosphere weighing down in the makeshift conference room, he could tell whatever he asked about next would only bring more bad news. But his heart was breaking already – it told him the unthinkable had happened, no matter how much he tried to silence it.

"What…what about…" he began, shaking his head so he could organise his thoughts. The world outside was quiet. The Asgardians had either stopped their attacks on Muspelheim to collaborate or regroup, or Muspelheim was advancing and they were sizing their opponent up. Either way, it helped Loki clear out the swamp of emotions in his mind.

Odin by nature wasn't emotional. But this was his granddaughter they were talking about – at least, as far as they knew – and that called for some sort of grief. When he'd heard the news, he went to his queen and they mourned their loss together, in the privacy of the palace when attacks weren't so frequent. Hel had been a hard sacrifice to make. The blood of innocents flowed from Surtur's hands like a river, pooling at his feet until they made an ocean and drowned all that was good, but Hel was the only true innocent they could name. The King felt her loss more sharply than he dared admit. He saw her face smiling at him in reflections, and he took the anger he felt at her death to make sure no other would face the same thing.

Loki took a deep breath, "What about my Hel?"

Silence. It answered him more than words ever could. Thor looked away from his brother's face to stare at the tent flaps behind him, jaw set and eyes hard, though through this façade was an uncle who'd already been hit with the news. Odin kept his eyes on Loki, non-verbally telling him his worst nightmare.

The God sat back. Tears wouldn't come. He knew at some point reality would dawn on him, but for now he could feel nothing but numbness, a shock which drained all colour from his face and made his eyes glassy.

"We sent messengers," the King said with a much softer voice, "They confirmed that Giantland had been attacked. Your manor was all but destroyed. Surtur told us she died there, buried under the rubble, but the messengers weren't able to find her body."

Loki, numb to what was being said, only nodded. He heard that there was no body but instead of being hopeful, a late bloom of fury burnt through his stomach.

"How can there be no body?!" he demanded, teeth bared and fists slamming on the table in rage, "Am I not allowed to bury my daughter?! Am I not allowed that?!"

Thor raised his hands, "Loki-"

"I have to suffer the knowledge that my daughter is dead, but I'm not given the mercy of laying her to rest – is that it?!"

"We cannot undo what's been done, Loki, but we also cannot change reality. I understand how this must hurt. But we must keep our heads; more will die if we do not take action now."

There was nothing Loki wanted to do more than take action. He wanted to take away everything the Fire Giants had to live for – he wanted to tear out their sun and rip their livelihoods to shreds, dancing in the ashes of their Kingdom until he heard them beg for mercy, yet his limbs felt too heavy to move. The sudden burst of energy had dissipated and left him weary. His bed called out to him from the other side of the trench, as if promising a time away from all his hurt and suffering, and a way to visit Hel.

Odin spoke to him about their plans. He half-listened, every detail in his head registering but too far from the surface for him to recognise it, as the thoughts of his Hel swarm and festered to the front of his mind. Imagining what her last moments were like made tears prick his eyes. He kept it together for as long as he was being watched, and only after he was dismissed did he let them fall silently down his face.

The vow he made on Hel's memory was a violent one. His conscience cried for blood. He would watch Surtur die before he let him get away with this murder.


	17. Her Body

The attack left Giantland devastated, but still some brave Giants remained. They had hidden themselves when they saw the war playing out; a cowardly act, perhaps, yet one that had to be done if they were to protect their children, who like wide-eyed monkeys clung to their mother's necks.

They inspected the rubble of the great manor, which before the attack they hadn't the bravery to approach and chose to stay away from. As the stone and brick converged, a strange mosaic on the courtyard floor, the mothers began to separate what was useful and what wasn't, hoping Loki wouldn't be mad if he knew how desperate they were.

"Eir!" shouted one of the Giants – a blonde-haired woman with broad shoulders and deep blue eyes. Her friend, the darker woman, turned, only to find she'd uncovered something none of them expected. The children pushed their mothers aside, scampering with their treasures from the wreckage in a desperate attempt to see what was going on. Eir gasped, her friend's great arm pushing the children back as she approached the clear space.

"This can't be. This simply can't be. She would have been squashed. There…this can't be."

Between the rubble, lodged against a counter with a cushion against her cheek, was their Princess Hel.

"Is she…?" Eir tapped Hel's shoulder. The girl squirmed as if in pain, and a soft finger of green energy extended from her to stroke Eir's finger. She felt almost stunned by it, as if it were speaking to her, begging her to take the child and protect her in her weakness.

"Eir! Is she dead?" They assumed she was. There was no way such a small child could have survived a whole house collapsing on her. It just wasn't feasible, not even in the realm of twelve foot men and their nine foot wives.

But the dark-haired woman cried out, "No!" and lifted Hel from the wreckage. She sagged like a limp ragdoll; her head lolled down and her eyes remained firmly shut, though the sparks of energy crackled over her dust-covered clothes. It was becoming weaker. Soon enough, Loki's Ward would be spent.

"Hildr," Eir looked helplessly at her friend, "She's still alive."

Stunned silence swept through the crowd. For the first time, Eir was able to get a good look at them. Her children, all of them standing at five foot, looked like nothing but common urchins playing games in the street, whipped as they were by dirt and blood. Her friends – some of them noblewomen – had lost their vibrancy and their eyes were dulled, as if in the space of a few short hours they hadn't just witnessed the destruction of Giantland, but the death of themselves. They stood in the blood-stained ruins of their home, dumbly staring at her, waiting for someone to make a move.

"We should leave her."

Everyone turned to look at one of the younger mothers. She clutched her baby to her bosom, rags of the pink dress she wore clinging to her figure, and dark eyeliner smeared where she had been rubbing her eyes.

Eir's mouth fell open, "What?"

"It's her fault our husbands are dead. It's her fault most of our children are hostages. We just witnessed a massacre; do we truly need another one?" the mother's voice rose a pitch as she clung to her baby, "If we leave her here, the Fire Giants will return and find her. Perhaps then they will give us back our own."

The other mothers shook their heads. They couldn't condemn Hel to that. Not only was she a child, and an innocent one at that, she was their princess, and they felt protecting her would be a semblance to a life now destroyed.

"You can't be suggesting we let her die so we may live?" Eir fixed her with a hard stare, "This is not just a matter of our stolen children."

"If they were returned to us-"

"IF," Hildr cut in, raising her finger to point it in the mother's face, "And we all know that if's are a dangerous business to be involved with."

Another silence went through them. One of the elders looked up at limp Hel, before she moved forwards to prop the girl's head up on Eir's bicep.

Hel twitched. She brought her thumb into her mouth and, like a baby, she began sucking on it, one hand resting underneath her cheek as the warmth of Eir's body began to thaw her. The mothers looked at her, eyes soft, no doubt in their mind what would happen if they were to leave her as an offering.

"Angrboda," Eir remembered, "Angrboda thinks she's dead. If we were to protect her and then give her back, do you not think we will be rewarded?"

That made the mother's eyes spark up, the thought of rewards like a hawk cry to her. No matter how many worlds the Fire Giants destroyed or how many children they took, Eir had a sneaking suspicion the woman in front of her could be persuaded into anything, absolutely anything if there was a hefty reward at the end of it.

Hel's eyes snapped open. As if she didn't register the women around her, she struggled out of Eir's grasp, rushing to a small space in the wreckage where a wooden box was buried. Her tiny hands dug through the stones until they were bleeding, and it was all Eir could do not to snatch her back up and scold her for hurting herself.

"Princess Hel," the woman said softly, "Please. We must leave here."

Her eerie voice almost made them shudder, "No."

"Muspelheim's forces might yet return."

"No!"

"Come. I will not argue with you, my Princess, but I will do what I must to make you safe."

Hel rose up from the dirt, clutching to her chest the tiny box with a triumphant smile on her face. Then the weariness hit her, and she was caught moments before she collapsed to the ground.

Eir cradled her against her chest, her voice a gentle whisper in her ear as she sang soothing lullabies.

"Quickly," she felt a tugging at her arm, "Ships; in the sky. We must leave."

True enough, there were the space-crafts in the distance, perhaps armed with mercenaries to pick off the last of Giantland. Eir rose from her crouch, Hel still against her chest, and with one last look at the wrecked manor, the mothers rushed to the Forest beyond.


	18. The Ashes of What's Left Behind

The memory of what had happened plagued all the children. Hel walked beside them as she had before the attack, jumping over logs and fallen oaks with her box clasped to her chest like someone would try to steal it away, a hard frown on her face as they moved through the Forest. The group passed the clearing, and for a moment it seemed as though she'd stop them, but Hel only glanced in its direction before ploughing forward.

Blood. She smelt it everywhere. Where there wasn't blood there was the hot odour of burnt wood, charred remains of animals that hadn't been able to escape the Fire Giants. The group moved slowly forwards without looking at the destruction around them. It was only when the great oaks began shrinking that they realised how much Muspelheim had attacked.

Loki placed the scrolls down on his hard-oak table, leaning against the back of his chair as he stared at the words. They floated like synchronised swimmers before him. Some words he caught, like 'coffin' and 'fire,' but others just scampered away from him, the tears building in his eyes making it all the more harder to read.

_She didn't deserve this, _he told himself, _Hel didn't deserve to die. You failed her. Her blood is on your hands._

One of the children stumbled. His great weight slammed on the ground and made the others jump, but the mothers were quick to hush him and tend to his scraped knees. Hel watched, fascinated as the Giants mobbed around him, until the five foot boy rose back to his feet and they resumed their sombre trek. All the magic in her body felt useless – worse than useless. She felt like a throwback to a time where things were luxurious and fast-paced, a relic almost, and the thought only made her cling to her box like a King protecting his gold.

Loki put his hand on the sleek wood of his desk, steadying himself as he gazed at the scrolls. They were details for a funeral; a royal funeral, of course, specifically designed for parts of the family who'd met their end in war. Though technically Hel wasn't one of the famed heroes who had charged into battle, her blood still mingled with justice. Loki would be damned if he let his daughter's sacrifice go by unnoticed; let his sacrifice be forgotten, and allowed the people to think he would have let her die had he the chance to save her.

"Eir."

The woman's voice disturbed the quiet air. All of the children looked up and clambered around each other, as if their parents were collaborating to abandon them in the Forest. Many of them knew the terrain well enough. With some educated guesses and Hel's magic, they would do fine by themselves. But still nine wide eyes stared up, eight blue and one green, with the irrational fear of being left in a world they had once explored.

Eir, busying herself with the baby, turned. It was a tacit understanding that she was now their leader. Her muscles rivalled Angrboda and her kindness outmatched her entirely, her hands like that of delicate craftsman as she rocked the squirming, two stone baby. She looked at Hildr with knowing eyes, and waited for her to continue.

The room was spinning around him, so much so that Loki was lurching from wall to wall in a desperate attempt to balance himself. He wanted to vomit, but he also wanted to scream. He wanted to leap out into the nearest portal and disappear back to Giantland, so he could search for Hel himself. He wouldn't be cheated out of a proper burial. They had already taken her life, her potential, her future. They had taken away so many opportunities that Loki couldn't count them all. How could they stand to take more, from someone who had done nothing but live?

"I have to…Helly…my girl…" he mumbled under his breath, too grief-stricken to form proper words as he stumbled towards the door.

Eir bent over one of the charred tree stumps, running her free hand along it as the baby whined. Its mother was stumbling with the two other women and the elder, too weary to hold it, yet all the same looking at her child with the same passion of a wolf looking at its cub. Her hands shot out when she saw its head jerk, but she relaxed again when Eir caught it.

"We're close to where they infiltrated," she determined, "These stumps – they're mostly cinders."

"Will they still be there?"

"I doubt it. Come. The children are getting tired."

The others moved off, but Hel stayed staring at the stump. She wanted to know why Muspelheim had attacked them. They had done nothing, simply gone about their lives as they had every day, as they had every century before Surtur began this mad plot. What reason did he have to suddenly come down on them? In an act of uncharacteristic emotion, Hel's eyes glinted, and a burst of purple energy shot out to freeze the disintegrating wood.

Coldness took over her insides in a way she hadn't felt before; the others stopped and turned, mouths agape, as her skin turned a faint shade of blue and her green eyes sparkled with a sort of menace. The contents of her box rattled as she shivered. By the time the moment passed and the anger had subsided, Hel had almost turned the colour of Jotunheim – their Frost Giant counterparts.

Loki struck against Thor as he blindly stumbled through the trenches, warriors and healers avoiding him at all costs. His brother's arms provided a safe place for him to stop. He looked up, his eyes pleading with him to take him away from reality, as overhead fireballs and arrows collided in the deadly fusion of war.

"I must…my Helly…I have to-"

"No, Loki," Thor's voice was soft, his eyes gentle, but his words firm, "Your duty is here. There's nothing more you can do for her now. Honour her memory by avenging her death, brother, and you may find your peace."

Hel's skin returned to its normal colour in a matter of moments. She turned to her friends and slotted in beside them, tiny against their heights, but to someone looking in she would be the abnormal one. There was always a difference between her and the other children. Not just of height, but of future prospects and options, and for most of them they feared her father's wrath. But now, as they started walking through the increasing number of stumps and cinder piles, there was no difference between them, at least not until they had sat down and begun to think about what their next move would be.

As Hel and Loki both stumbled through their surroundings, only one thing was sure. They were separated. Their souls had been ripped away from each other and soon, if the war carried on, their anger would only grow. Hel mourned for the loss of her previous life, the loss of her mother and she assumed, her father. Loki mourned for a daughter he'd loved more than life.

The future was unclear to them. But for Loki, he'd take his anger out on Muspelheim, and slay all that stood between him and that murdering King Surtur.


	19. Whispers

"Hel. Leave it be."

Hel stood over a large pond they had never seen before, the murky black surface rippling as something glided underneath it. Her little fingers still clasped over the box, her gaze never wandered from the sleek, scale-backed body she could barely see, which writhed and stretched like the tentacle of a great monster.

The mothers had allowed her curiosity, but soon it would be time for them to go. The Forest beyond them had shrunk down into nothing more than stumps – where majestic oaks had stood were now cinders, disintegrating with each gust of wind as the sunlight waned over the horizon.

Before them, the land was bare.

"Creature," she squealed when its back broke the surface, only to bob quickly under it again, "It's here."

Eir reached out to grab at her coat, still stained with the rubble's dirt, "Come away. There's no telling what that thing will do to you."

"It looks like Jorgmundr."

"Yes, but it isn't him, is it? Your brother Jorgmundr is somewhere in the universe causing mayhem."

"No. That's Muspelheim." She looked up at Eir with those big green eyes. They seemed to have hardened after the attack, losing some of the vibrancy and innocence that had once been rife in them, but still they kept a hint of softness, a little look into Hel and her inquisitive mind. "Muspelheim causes mayhem. The Fire Giants."

No one had anything to say to that. The children, too afraid to look at the creature in the pond, hung back near the taller stumps, where they played with sticks and stones found in the crevices of the land. Boulders scorched and singed sat around the water like silent guards; they protected the monster living under the water from the monsters living above it, who had been wandering for so long now they had forgotten this thing's existence.

Mothers lay against the rocks as a source of warmth, the baby being passed between them whilst they discussed what they were going to do next. Some thought it would do them better to go to the edge of the land and attempt to contact Asgard, whereas a smaller group argued they needed to set up shelter and rebuild their lost world. Eir listened to each opinion calmly, not making her decision until the points had been argued both ways, and then looking at Hel as the girl teetered closer to the water's edge.

"Hel!" she called, "Away!"

But the creature to her was not a thing to fear – rather, it was like her; a relic of an old world, holding secrets in its scales that she wanted to know. As she moved closer to inspect it, she hardly noticed a razor-sharp tail tip creeping out of the water and up at her, where her long coat was draping down.

It grabbed her. In a moment, Hel was yanked underwater, and the air around her disappeared as she was pulled into the murky depths. The cold attacked her skin like a thousand needles. She felt each prick as intensely as she would a sword stabbing through her, a Fire Giant's hot breath ghosting against her cheek. A pair of glowing blue eyes peeked out of the darkness as she tried to scramble back for air.

"Hel!" came muffled screams from above, "Hel!"

The black tentacle coiled around her, and a voice whispered in her ear, clear if scarcely audible, "_We're one of the same, you and I. Can you see the future, Hel? Can you hear it?"_

Unafraid as fangs appeared beside her, Hel thought, _what future?_

"_The future that has to come, little Hel. You'll look so pretty with your crown."_

_I want my Daddy._

"_Do you, now? And do you think he wants you, little Hel? Do you think he misses you? Go on – try to contact him. Try to tell him how much you miss him. I can swear to you, my Queen; he will be married with child when you next see him."_

Hel was yanked up by the scruff of her hood, and startled the creature let go of her. Darkness was replaced by sudden light – she squinted, coughing up waterfalls of green liquid as she still clung to her box. Eir pressed her against her chest as frustrated howls fell from her lips.

"I told you, Hel!" she was saying, though Hel couldn't hear her through the water in her ears, "I told you to stay away from it! Do you know what it could have done to you?! It could have swallowed you whole! It could have drowned you! Who knows?!"

Her concern verged on motherly, one of the only times Hel had been shown concern when it came to a woman. She knew what it was like to have men fawn over her like a jewel and protect her until their last breath – her father had been a good example, and after that it was her uncles, and even after that loomed her grandfather in all his regal glory.

"It spoke to me! It said things!" but no one was listening to her now. Eir pulled her against her chest as she ambled off to one of the stumps, which was shed down on by the light like a drying rack in Giantland.

Loki dusted his hands as a hundred dead bodies littered the ground around him. A wicked grin spread across his face. One more arsenal was defeated and they were a step closer to their goal, King Surtur, the murderer who had taken his daughter away. As he stepped over the corpses and moved back to the fissure-trench, Thor rushed over to him, a sad look on his face whilst he passed an official looking letter.

"It's Mother," he said, "She's organising a memor…a funeral, for Hel."

Loki looked up at him with a blank face, "A funeral?"

"Yes."

"With no body?"

"Yes."

"How can that be? What will we burn?"

"The letter explains it," Thor took a deep breath, clasping his hand over Loki's shoulder, "But from what I gather, Mother will collect things Hel loved and place them in the boat. She's developed a spell which creates Hel's likeness. Whatever's in the boat will look like her, feel like her, and for a time, be her."

He didn't know how to feel about it. He was torn between being grateful to his mother for thinking something like that up, and being angry at her for believing anything could be Hel. He wanted to see his daughter off – his real daughter, sending her out into that mysterious world he would one day follow. Did she die in battle? Was she…he refused to go down that path. He refused to be one of those grieving parents who clung to the hope their child was alive, despite all the evidence proving otherwise. No body. No word of her. Anecdotal reports of the house toppling on her, and his manor in ruins. If he didn't listen to any of it and believed in Hel's resilience, he would drive himself mad.

"Very well," he sighed, tearing the letter top open, "I suppose should read this."


	20. The Forgotten

The days dragged on as the group ambled throughout the wrecked Forest. Hel had taken to calling it the Forgotten and the Land of Mist, for as the night drew in a fog would seep through the stumps like a river, making it all the more difficult for them to avoid traps and animals lurking underneath.

Hel was being carried by the younger mother, though not because she wanted to be or she was too tired to walk. Some nights before her baby had been kidnapped in the night, presumably by a creature that saw nothing more than an easy meal. It only made sense that she'd want to carry the smallest survivor. She wanted to feel as though she were carrying her own baby, the child ripped away from her, and Hel's weight kept her focus off of where it had gone.

Soon enough, they would be out of the Forest, and from then on Eir didn't know what to do. Brave warriors of Giantland had told them there was nothing beyond their village. All that existed outside of the Forest was a wasteland, a place where creatures converged and became horrible grotesque nightmares, but they didn't have any other choice. If they stayed, they would have been spotted by Muspelheim. If they sought refuge in the Forest, it wouldn't be long until they all ended up like the baby. There was only one option. They had to press on in the hopes that they'd find someone, anyone who could help them, or until Asgard sent them rescue.

"Stop," the leader said, waiting until everyone had halted. The children ran into each other and almost toppled underneath the fog, but they regained their footing quickly as the Giant gazed out into the darkness in front.

The mother clung to Hel. She could feel the strength hidden behind her feminine appearance, and she had to stop herself from crying out as talons dug into her arm.

"What is it?" the elder whispered.

"I'm not sure. Something. Perhaps we should make a fire here. There's no use walking in this mist."

They had no reason to argue, so they did not. The mothers left their children in a 'safe' clearing and went to go find wood, hoping Hel or one of the others would be able to stop any attackers.

Hel looked at the grubby, tired faces in front of her. With a sad smile, she extended her hand to the second smallest, as though the sight of her dirt-streaked and tear-stained face made her feel some sort of kinship with the girl.

The Giant-ling raised her eyebrow, taking the hand in her own before waiting for Hel to speak. In an instant all the children had grown silent. They waited for their Princess to talk like her father's presence was still there; respect was still intact, if pushed aside for more important things.

"We will be saved." She told them. "Father."

"No," the biggest shook his head, "They won't save us, not now. They probably think we're dead. They…probably think us hostages. Are they on Muspelheim now? They might be trying to save us there, but not here. Here's a dead land."

Hel glared at him, "This is our home."

"Was our home – was. There's nothing left. Our fathers are all dead; our mothers are becoming husks of what they were. They try to cling to a world that's been destroyed. Make a fire? For what?"

"Food."

"Ah yes, food. Like the baby was to whatever found it. That was a sad thing, was it not? But a thing that will happen to us all. We're walking dead men in a dead land. We are not meant to survive."

Hel's pale cheeks were becoming flush with anger. In a way, she was angry at herself – angry for believing that Loki would save them, at the withering hope in her heart that she would see him again. But she was sure she was angry at this clumsy, heavy-handed oaf of a boy, with his overgrown teeth and beady eyes staring down at her as he strode into the clearing.

She met him in the middle, standing on tip-toe so she could seem more threatening.

"Survival is for the weak; living is for the strong!" she snapped, "Survival means I can kill you. Living means I would not, for it would be burdening myself with your death."

"Wait a while, Hel – I'm sure you, the pretty Princess will be more than happy to see us die."

As though she had been scolded by her mother, Hel's snarl turned into a blank stare. Her feet lowered back onto the ground until she was rocking on her heels, her eyes never wavering from the boy's face as the scene around them faded, and all that was left was the blood rushing in her ears.

With a dangerous, toneless voice, she said, "I've more power in my veins than you do, and you're still alive. I have protected you. My father's Ward will protect me. Living means I can feel, and I can breathe without guilt, and I can look out at the horizon and believe that something better will come. You – you are surviving. I am living."

And with that she skulked off to the side, picking up the box which had been left on a nearby stump. She sat near the place where the mothers had sectioned off kindling and, without looking at the children, who were staring at her, took her amethyst out to hold up to her face.

It was cold, but the love was still there. She thought about how her father would have looked at it and probably thought about how beautiful it was, before his mind turned and he wondered if Hel would like it. Perhaps he compared her to it. Perhaps she won. All she knew for sure was that it still seemed to hum with his love, and it was the closest link she had to him now that everything was severed.

_This,_ she decided, _I remember the Beyond spells. I can cast them. I'll have to take this thing's essence and try to maintain the link, but I can reach Daddy. I have to. He has to know I'm alive. He wants me with him. I can tell._


	21. Apart and Together

Thor and Loki left Muspelheim long enough to attend the funeral. Frigga had been true to her word. The healers and spell-casters had all come out to arrange a grand boat for Hel, adorned with gems and teddies and all sorts of wonderfully coloured flowers, even a banner she'd made when she was only very small. It dangled over the edge, flapping in a barely-there breeze with the words 'ASGARDIAN BY NATURE' stitched in gold lettering. Loki's hand ghosted along it as a million memories flooded through his mind.

The ceremony itself would begin later, much later. Grand though the boat was, its brown hull hadn't been polished to perfection and its masthead hadn't yet been crafted – a horse, Hel's favourite animal, made to look like Sleipnir who had been promised to her when she was old enough to ride. Loki wanted to see that horse now. He wanted to remember how his daughter's eyes lit up when she gazed at it, taking into account all eight limbs and mentally telling him, 'I like it – he's different.' Never would he see her galloping through the meadows of Giantland. Her hair would never flow in the breeze, never have to be combed out for flies, and she would never know the simple thrill of riding beside her friends in a search for adventure.

Tears welled in his eyes. He looked out at the strange half-sea that surrounded Asgard, where the boat would float away before the archers set fire to it. Here was where he would say his final goodbye to Hel. There was no turning back now, no going against the truth and believing she was alive. Surtur had taken his daughter. Surtur would pay that price in blood.

"Brother," he barely responded to Thor, who placed his hand on the God's shoulder almost delicately, "Mother wants you to see the masthead. She says it's a work of true craftsmanship."

"Tell her I will see it another time."

"The funeral is tonight, Loki. If you want to make any changes, now is the time to do it."

"What changes can be made? My daughter's dead. How I say goodbye to her means little to me. I only wish I could say goodbye."

Thor, realising he was wandering into dangerous territory, was careful with his words. He didn't want to anger his brother, not in the state he was in, and the last thing he wanted to do was remind him there was no turning back time. What he said was true; he had lost a daughter, but on the other hand, so had Thor lost a niece. He still remembered her, and he still loved her. Perhaps not as intensely as Loki did, but Thor had recalled all the times he ran after her when she had just learnt to walk, all the times he had thrown her up in the air only to catch her in fits of laughter. Loki forgot that he wasn't in his grief alone. There were others around him, other mourners, and a whole Asgardian society who were hurting for the loss of Hel.

"She can hear you," he theorised, "I am sure of it. She watches us every day, knows every sacrifice we make and every Fire Giant we slay. I wish I could give her back to you, Loki, but all I can say is that she's still with us, whether a thousand lives stand between this world and the next."

The leaner sibling let his shoulders fall, and his tears dripped down his cheeks like crystals down a gorge. Thor was a fool. A good-natured fool, but a fool all the same. Loki hadn't felt her presence beside him since the day he'd heard the news. In fact, he felt she was a million miles away, somewhere trapped in a place of cold and dark where he would follow her, if only he had the option. He cared nothing for luxury if it meant he was at his daughter's side. He wanted her, Hel, and the life they had led before Surtur's greed.

He spoke in a small voice, choked with pain, "She's not here. She's somewhere, but she's not with me. If she were I would be happier. If she were at peace, I would know. But she is not. I only hope that wherever she is, she knows that I will avenge her, whether that means my death or a thousand Fire Giants'."

Hel sat against the tree stump after yet another day's trekking. Eir had relaxed slightly since they found a water source, and the younger mother still insisted on fussing over Hel as the day she lost her baby distanced, yet it was Hildr that everyone was now worrying about. She had been bitten by something; perhaps Jorgmundr's friend, one of those poisonous snakes that always seemed to avoid the little princess. Hel felt the Giantess's energy slipping away as she thrashed from side to side on the floor, her son watching over her with wide, frightened eyes, and one of the other mothers keeping watch to make sure death would be swift.

In the girl's hand, she was playing with her amethyst. The box lay at her side, the letters in smudged with her dirty fingerprints and some of the gifts breaking, but it was the amethyst she kept outside at all times. The longer she held it, the stronger the connection between her and her father's energy became. She could feel him now – he wasn't dead, but there was something dulling his spirit, hurting him. She assumed he was a hostage. With her little knowledge of Beyond spells, she hoped she'd be able to help him, and tell him she was alive in their broken land.

"Do you know anything?"

She turned to see the boy was talking to her. It was the biggest Giant-ling, the one who had challenged her in the clearing, but he seemed much weaker now. He was afraid. She couldn't blame him. Only cock her head to the side in a silent question.

"Any spells? To make her better," he gripped the sweating hand of his mother, "To let her live?"

Hel's eyes softened. Without thinking she grabbed his free hand and, giving it a squeeze, she replied;

"She'll never be far from you."


	22. Connection

The group sat around a mound of upturned dirt, the biggest's crying face hanging over it as all children watched in silence. Hel felt a strange energy surge through her. When Hildr's health had started failing and her death grew nearer, it was as if a fire had been ignited within the little girl, to the point where her fingers trembled and every nerve felt electric.

The amethyst in her hand sparkled brightly as the biggest cried. Eir, mourning for a friend she'd known since her girlhood, sat with him, though no tears poured from her eyes, and on her face there was only a sense of loss whilst the others remained quiet.

She felt closer to her father than she ever had before – Hel knew that if she were to go to sleep, her Beyond spell would kick in. She wouldn't need to whisper any ancient incantations or summon spirits from their age-old slumber, not when this feeling was so strong, when her father's scent was practically all around her and all she had to do was think his name.

_Loki._

The God sat up. He was in his old room, surrounded by beautiful gleaming walls and the veil which hung down from his bed's four posters, the huge balcony door to the side of him with the curtains drawn. His eyes scanned it all to see who had come in. The door wasn't open and there were no maids pottering about; who had called his name? Who had been so bold as to wake him from an already fitful sleep?

_Daddy?_

A single tear sprung to Loki's eye as he leapt out of bed, searching the room to find who was playing such a cruel trick on him. There were many in Asgard; one of them must have thought his predicament funny, must have believed that in some way he deserved to lose the one spark of joy he had in life. Why else would he be hearing a soft voice calling to him? Why would it taunt him with the idea that his daughter was so close, so near to him that he could almost feel her, hold her?

"Where are you?!" he shouted, his voice breaking, "Where are you?! Show yourself!"

Thor paced outside of his brother's door, and jumped when he heard the outburst. He'd taken a vigil there when he heard Loki was sleeping; some part of him didn't believe it, yet another part didn't care so long as Loki had enough rest for the funeral. It would drain them all. So why was the God stamping around his bedroom, raving like a madman?

Hel focused her thoughts again, _Daddy? Daddy, where are you?_

Loki span around. That time he definitely heard a voice, but it wasn't a voice that drifted in the breeze. It was something else – something in his head, like a mysterious force had snuck in through the balcony windows and—

"The windows!" he leapt towards them and threw them open.

Outside, Asgard was going through the preparations for their Royal Funeral. Banners of Hel's face were hung everywhere, dating back from when she was born to when she was last seen in the land, which was a few months before the war broke out. Her favourite flowers decorated the buildings. Indeed, there was a huge sculpture being brought into the courtyard as he flung himself forward, catching the rail just in time to see a six foot rosebud disappearing into the palace.

_Daddy? Daddy!_ Hel could hear his voice. He was so close; there was so much she wanted to say, but as she wasn't asleep she couldn't focus her energy enough. Her heart was beating too rapidly. Her conscious took too much to control – there was none left for her spell, and whatever little she could scrape together didn't do much.

"Where are you?!" Loki screamed. A hundred eyes stared up at him, but he didn't care. The voice was his daughter. He knew it; only she could evoke such a strong reaction from him, only she had the power to make him run around like a wild thing.

Thor burst through the door and ran towards his brother, picking him up and trying to tug him away from the ledge. He clung to it as he screamed out her name. He kept calling and kicking Thor back, like a child who didn't want to go to bed, whilst his sibling tried to get a good enough handle on him so he could pull him out of the public eye.

"She's here! I heard her!" he protested when Thor's strength won. He was yanked away and the people shooed from the palace, all of them whispering to each other how the Prince of Chaos had finally lost his mind.

Thor pushed him back into the room. He didn't lose his footing; rather, Loki stood unnaturally upright, his eyes wide and his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

Hel opened her eyes in frustration. She had lost the connection. Whatever words she had said, whatever message she hoped would follow had become meaningless, and now she wondered to herself how she was going to get another signal sent out. Would someone else have to die? Would she have to kill them? The thought made her shudder.

Loki glared into his brother's eye, "I heard-"

"Enough, Loki!" he boomed. "You must stop this!"

Two strong hands grabbed him, locking him into place whilst blue eyes glared forward. If Thor had a mind to, he would have shaken the sense back into Loki, and maybe then he would catch a glimpse of the brother he knew and loved.

"Hel is dead! I do not like it as much as you, but we mustn't lose ourselves! That's what Surtur wants! He wants us to fall apart, to break from the inside; he has taken Hel from us, but he will not take our victory!"

"Victory?! Victory?!" Loki wanted to kill him, in a split second of hatred that fizzled soon after it had sprung, "What victory?! Your precious war?! Father's crown?! There is no more victory! My family is gone – my daughter is dead! And you expect me to believe there's a victory for us?!"

He staggered until the back of his knees hit the bed, and fell on it as all energy left him. When he spoke, it was soft, slow.

"There's no victory anymore, only revenge. Once this war is over, what then? I've no family, no home to return to. I will live the rest of my days in mourning. I've lost my girl."

Thor sighed, "No, brother. Revenge lies in victory, and when it comes you will recognise it. Come; there's much to do now."

"For the funeral?"

"For whatever lies ahead."


	23. The Last Sentinel

It made sense that the younger mother disappeared. A few nights after Hildr's death she simply vanished into the Forest, as though looking for her baby in some half-asleep trance. The group woke up to her empty space between two of the lowest level-stumps – she liked sleeping there, just in case she woke up to whatever had taken her child – and no one spoke about it, not even when all of the mothers except for Eir went looking for her, and never returned.

Eir was now the sole protector of the children. She spoke to them like a commander by that point, directing them through the stumps and the untouched oaks that were slowly becoming thick again. Tears sprung to her eyes as she imagined what life would be like now she was alone. The band of orphans didn't speak, barely registered thorns in their soles and pains in their sides whilst they clambered over the undergrowth, the war just a faint memory in their head as they swirled into a state of delirium.

"Hurry up Hel!" the Giantess cried when she lagged, "We can't allow any more to die!"

The child looked up, her eyes a mixture of confusion and weariness, before she rushed to catch up to the flagging children. All of them seemed to have shrunk. Clothes that were once so colourful hung ragged around their shoulders, clinging on by threads, and all sense of vibrancy was stolen by the dirt encrusted over it.

Her box. That was all she had left. After all of the mothers disappeared and the children were the only ones left, she would always have her box. It was her way of remembering and channelling what they had lost; somewhere, deep inside the letters and the gifts from Muspelheim, there was locked an energy which she had yet to tap, and some hopeful part of her thought she could use this to contact her father.

They walked on, as they had done since Muspelheim attacked, as Hel knew they would do until every last one of them dropped. There was nothing beyond the Forest. She had figured that out as every tree seemed to close in around them, and began to repeat themselves after an almost month long trek. Stumps were disappearing, giving way to gigantic trunks that weren't attacked during the invasion, which gave the children a small bloom of courage as the cool shade washed over them again.

"I swear…" Eir was muttering under her breath, "There's more. There has to be more. There cannot only be Giantland – this place is too vast, too conquered. Where else? What else?"

Hel heard her speaking and, with the courage returned to her, she said, "Giantland is conquered by Forest. We must conquer this first."

Eir stopped. The children stopped behind her. With her eyes gleaming wisdom, the Giantess turned, staring at the little girl with the box pressed against her chest.

"What, Hel?"

"The Forest," she repeated, "There is only Forest. Mother disappeared in the Forest all the time – she brought back wolves, and said the land was conquered. But wolves were never in control. It was always the Forest!"

It was as if she had uncovered a great secret. Hel began to weave her way in and out of trees, laughing to herself as the others sat silent in her revelation, until finally she climbed on top of a boulder and started pointing directions with her chin.

"We must become warriors of the Forest! There's food and water; if we share with the animals, we can rise again!"

"Hel-"

"Think, Mother Eir! Think of how great we can be if we were to only swallow our pride! We could build another civilisation and find ways to contact Asgard! We could send for my father – we could-"

"We could be attacked by wild animals in the night, just as that baby, and just as his mother! We could be poisoned or devoured or skinned alive or…or…"

One of the children started wailing. Hel stared at Eir, a hint of fear in her eyes as the Giantess lumbered forward and picked her up from the boulder, as though she had lost all sense of her life before and didn't fear her princess's status.

"There's nothing else left on this dull rock, do you understand?! There is no rescue, there's no life! It's only a matter of time before I disappear, and what then?!" she shook the child like a limp rag doll, "You children are going to die!"

A bright spark of purple energy exploded across the Forest, and Eir went flying into one of the grand Oaks at the other side. Hel dropped to her feet as if she were a big cat, her eyes sparking with rage whilst she clutched her box even more tightly to her.

One of the children went to inspect Eir. He pressed a finger against her neck, half-expecting Hel to have killed her, but there was the faintest pulse beating against her hardened skin.

Just unconscious. Alive, but unconscious. Hel rolled her shoulders as she tried to regain composure, willing her hands to stop shaking, and the children clambered around Eir to check she hadn't received permanent damage.

"You hurt her!" the third largest cried, "You could have killed her!"

Hel shook her head, "No – never killed."

"Your magic is out of control."

"I am in control of it, but not when I'm in danger. She wanted to hurt me. She's condemned us all to death!" the child glared around her peers, "I've no reason to think she could protect us, so what would it matter if she died? Come, all of you; build a fire and set up a camp. I have to sleep."

"You can't seriously be tired-"

"Eir has gone mad. It is my duty as a princess to protect my people, and now I am acting on it."

"There are no more duties, Hel."

"My father is still at war. Our traditions remain even if our homes do not; I can save us, friends, but only if you shall help me. Set up a camp. I'm to sleep, and through this…through this I will find my father."


	24. Farewell, Goodnight, My Princess

Asgard stood at the edge of their world, looking out into the darkness that was their ocean. Galaxies dotted the skies above them, flurries of stars and uninhabited planets, whilst every single loyal Asgardian took up a space to say farewell to their princess.

The boat was ready. Polished and primped, scrubbed until even the smallest speck of dirt had been eradicated, it was filled with a whole host of things Hel had loved. The flowers made up where her head should have been, laid out like an offering to the divines. White roses led down to a cluster of beautiful dolls with their hair laced up into plaits, ponytails and all sorts of styles, new clothes shining under the light of their torches. Where her feet would have lain had they recovered a body, there sat a chest – a chest which Loki knew to be filled with her baby clothes, the royal silver spoon, and perhaps even that dog-eared teddy bear he'd be given and passed on to her. A Sleipnir-inspired masthead sat pointing towards the river, her final guard into the next life.

Slowly, as though he would break at any sudden movement, Frigga approached Loki, placing her hand on his shoulder as tears filled her eyes.

"The spell, Mother," he said, not looking at her, "Cast the spell now."

Golden light flooded through the boat. In an instant the roses disappeared, the dolls began to shape-shift and the chest elongated to engulf it all. Loki watched with a wary trust as everything began to morph into something; it was only when the silvery raven-black hair and pale cheeks appeared that he let his eyes widen, watching whilst Frigga put all of her energy into her enchantment.

"It's…" words failed him. They got stuck in his throat until all he could make was a pathetic mewling sound.

Instead, he reached forward. His hand ghosted against the glowing skin of his daughter, and that was all it took for him to lose all sense of what was going on around him. The waiting citizens disappeared into blackness. His entire family was swallowed by his grief as he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the silver-white forehead in front of him, realising it still felt like flowers rather than skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Helly. I should have protected you. I should have done more. I'm so sorry I failed you. I will do all I can, my girl; Surtur will feel the pain of a thousand knives piercing his skin, just as my heart feels your death. Goodnight, my princess."

The citizens watched as Loki reared his head back up, only to dive down for another farewell kiss on the effigy. It must have been hard, they thought. They had mourned for Hel too, in their homes where small shrines were constructed and the formal prayers were sent, wishing she'd find her path through Yggdrasil to be returned to the universe. But for one who had actually known her? The one who had been half-responsible for her being and, in some ways, her death? A few warriors knew what it felt like to lose children to war, but many were old wounds, and they sympathised with Loki as he took his first tentative steps on their mournful road.

The God turned to his family. His eyes were wet and his mouth trembled, but he spoke with a determined voice.

"Do it."

Without delay, the pall-bearers pushed the boat out. It floated on the water as peacefully as a picnic-boat, as if that was all there was to it, but there was no little family munching on fruit and bread, and there was no happiness in the crowd's heart as they watched it drifting towards the edge. Loki's eyes locked on the end of the boat. Frigga released her spell and the effigy became trinkets again, just in time for the archers to hit it with their flaming arrows. The royal family's heart broke as smoke began to rise from their youngest member's casket, though her body was elsewhere, and they were sure her mind still lingered on the great lands of Asgard.

Loki thought of her birth whilst the boat drifted. He remembered how he had rushed into the room once the healers told him there had been a problem. He remembered his daughter lying there in her crib, a blanket pulled up over her little body, and his wife unconscious on a bed stained with blood. His hands had trembled so when he ripped that blanket away from her, and his tears had fallen freely when he realised that his daughter – his brand new baby – was alive, looking up at him without crying for a hug. That was why they had called her 'Hel.' She'd defied death to greet him, defied the healers to grow into his beautiful, strong girl and then, in some cruel twist of fate, had been eradicated by a madman and his lust for power.

Soon enough, Frigga cast a small fragment of herself up into the air, giving back to the universe what Hel couldn't give. The stars sparked with the Queen's energy in acceptance of her offer. It made Asgard's shoulders ease to think that Hel, wherever she may be, had been given back to the currents of time.

"Brother," Thor put his hand on Loki's shoulder as the boat broke into small pieces, "This is not the end. Hel will be united with us in our victory. Her sacrifice…"

He trailed off. Loki could sense his upset, but it was his own he couldn't see past. What victory? What victory was there now that his daughter was taken from him? He couldn't go back to Giantland and resume a peaceful life. He couldn't stand being thought of as a war hero, one who had given up everything just to protect what meant something to him.

The boat fell over the edge. The finality of it struck them all. Now, there was nothing left to do except defeat Surtur, and make him pay for the damage he had done.

"I will be in my chambers if you need me. Please…" he looked at his family with tearful eyes. "Let me rest."

A green orb of light surrounded him, before Loki vanished from sight.


	25. Nine Realms, Yggdrasil

Hel fell asleep quickly. Propped up against the boulder and shaded by the trees, though the night was beginning to creep in anyway and the children had fashioned a small canopy of leaves over her head, the princess drifted between all the nine realms, searching for a path which would lead her to her father.

Yggdrasil was a cold, dark place. Monsters festered in tangled roots, knotting themselves in with the very fabric of Time and Space, all the while their beady eyes watched as the child took her tentative steps through. Not one crept out to face her. She assumed it was because they knew her father, but in actual fact the creatures feared her alone, as if there was some unspoken air about her that made everyone tremble in her presence.

Grey-bricked roads wound through the misted tree, and she followed them without knowing where she was off to. Words failed her. Thoughts became her only way of communicating; the animals seemed to understand, with some scampering out of damp dens to lead her through the darkness, and others flying over her head, terrible squawks sounding as they did so. Hel looked up when she saw a majestic eagle soaring through the black sky, but to her dismay it morphed into little more than a crow, its great golden wings suddenly black and beaten as its huge form shrunk.

A shimmering pool was on the way. She passed it, and a familiar voice drifted up from the surface.

"_My Queen, little Hel," _hissed something, images of a long black body and scaled back filling the girl's mind, "_Here already? Don't you fear, my Queen, for soon Yggdrasil shall be your Kingdom, and its planes as known to you as your own heartbeat…"_

When Hel turned back to look at the water, it had vanished.

The paths were long and confusing, but soon enough she felt a strange tingling in her feet. They had led her to a part of the tree that seemed almost impenetrable. Gnarled roots were knotted and tangled into a mesh of bark, light streaming out of small cracks as though they were hiding the secret to life. Before the child could approach it, the creature – a strange, eight-eyed thing, with frog's legs and a demon's tongue – stretched its webbed hand in her way.

"Let me pass," she commanded. It was terrifying how her voice blended in with the atmosphere. Almost as if…

"You're approaching our most sanctified place – Yggdrasil's favourite land."

"Asgard?"

"Yes, and with it Asgard's people."

"My father is there. I must go to him. He must know where I am."

The creature eyed her with his one good eye, "And who might your father be, child?"

"Loki, Prince of Asgard, soon-to-be war hero," Hel dodged the creature's shocked hand, "And my father, vengeful as he is when I'm in danger. Would you wish to make him angry, creature? Yggdrasil cannot hold against my uncle; it can barely hold against its monsters!"

The thing wanted to vanish into the shadow as her piercing green eyes gleamed through the darkness, hurting its skin, making the tree and its mist moan in agony. It only took her into account for a moment more and, before it vanished and the knots unfurled themselves, it whispered;

"Loki, Loki, chaos and destruction – see him, child, and here his words. Yggdrasil can see all Nine Realms, feel all the inhabitants. We live here. It's only a matter of time before you do as well."


	26. Leave the Past Behind

Loki was standing in a luminous clearing. The trees around him were like silent watchmen, black trunks and shadowed leaves, whilst above him the moonlight streamed through a circular opening and cast everything in a silver glow. It was all so ethereal that, for a moment, he thought his grief had killed him and he was left stranded in the next life.

"Thor?" he called, desperate to hear another voice in the never-ending quiet, "Thor? Are you here? Mother?! Father?!" he ran towards the edge of the clearing. There was no break in the darkness between the trees; it was an unending black, the Void, and it sent chills down his spine to even think about walking through it. At least in the clearing, he could see.

Turning on his heels, he called again, his wide eyes taking everything into account as he ran in circles, "Mother?! Thor?! Father?! Anyone?!"

Silence.

Loki stopped running. A thought had crept into his mind. But he was trying his best not to think about it – Thor was right, and he had to stop these wishful things crawling into his brain, for they would never let him move on with his shattered life. As it was, he was barely holding up. Yet that didn't stop him from slowly falling to his knees, his hand wandering up to hover over his heart as a quiet, almost silent name passed his lips.

"Hel?"

Two green eyes peeked out of the darkness, and soon he saw something small running towards him. Without thinking Loki threw open his arms – a moment later, they were full. The impact when it hit him was so great that he almost flew back into one of the trees, but he held fast against it, disbelief in his eyes as something familiar nuzzled against his chest.

"Hel?" he said again, voice soft.

"Daddy!"

Her voice brought tears to his eyes. It had been so long since he had heard it, so long since they had been separated and he was only able to send her letters. A million emotions swirled through his mind as he tightened his grip around Hel, and her little voice fell out in an excited babble.

"Daddy! I found you! I found you!"

She was so happy and her voice so pure, for a moment he could believe it. For a moment the war hadn't happened – he was home, his real home, and they were standing somewhere in the great Forests that surrounded Giantland, possibly only minutes away from the manor, learning how to cast spells. It was real. It was something he'd dreamed about since he heard of her…

Reality crashed down on him. He pushed her away, standing up so he didn't have to look at her face. If he even caught a glimpse of those pale cheeks and confused eyes, he knew he would succumb to madness.

Loki walked away from her to the edge of the clearing, where he looked out into the darkness that chilled his blood so, his back faced at her so she couldn't see his tears. The child, confused, crept up until she was only a few inches behind him, looking up with her wide eyes.

"Daddy?" her little voice came.

"No," he snapped, "No, I can't allow this. Hel, you have to go."

The child's lip quivered as she moved forward again, "Daddy?"

"No! This – this isn't real. You have to go. You have to go back."

"Daddy!" her voice was layered by desperation, her hands on his robes as she tried to pull him around, to make him look at her, "Daddy! Daddy loves me!"

He snatched his robe away, "Yes! I loved you! I loved you, and now you're gone! But no – you're not gone. Here you are. To taunt and harass me until my mind breaks!"

"Look at me!"

"No!" Loki span around, catching a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. It was enough to make him look her full in the face. She was just as he remembered – gleaming green eyes, pale cheeks, her coat perfect and straightened; almost as if nothing had happened and they really were together. But there was pain where usually he saw indifference. Her innocence, however strong, was cracking. Without thinking, Loki fell to his knees, and he let out a small gurgle that was supposed to be words.

Hel took a step towards him as tears ran in streams down her cheeks. Her heart felt like it was breaking. She had risked herself to cast a Beyond spell, knowing the dangers that came with no preparation, and yet her father was…abandoning her? The last fragments of her heart were breaking as her quivering lips moved to speak.

"Daddy loves me," a reminder, and one Loki didn't need, "Daddy loves me. I'm your princess. Remember?" her hands slipped over his. The God looked down to see her little fingers entwining with his own, like they had done when she was alive and he would put her down to sleep, whilst her wet eyes pleadingly looked into his.

"Hel…" he said, drawing out the name. For a moment, he felt his resolve breaking. His daughter could almost see the second where his eyes went soft…before they hardened once again. He shoved her back and stood up.

"Go!" he demanded, his hand thrown out to the dark Forest, "Go back to wherever you came from! Stop taunting me! You're not my girl! You're not!"

She watched as he raced towards the edge of the clearing, "Leave me alone! Just let me forget – this chapter of my life is over; now, there is only revenge! You are nothing!"

Tears streamed down her face. Hel wiped the insufferable things away with her sleeve, standing up and straightening herself as she had seen Loki do at home, before she fixed him with an ice-cold stare. Even the God felt the air freeze around them. All sense of innocence and softness disappeared from his daughter to be replaced by frosty anger, and hidden beneath that, hurt.

"I am Hel!" she hissed.

"No…" he muttered sadly, not noticing when the scene began to melt around them and Hel began to fade into the shadows, "Not anymore. I can't save you now. Please…just go."

Loki's eyes sprung open. He gasped as moonlight streamed in through his balcony windows, sitting bolt upright so he could rub his eyes and recollect what he'd just seen. Tears were building already as he remembered Hel's words, her desperation. How could he have sent her away?

"No," he reminded himself, his voice a mere sniffling whilst he wiped the tears on his forearms, "That was not Hel. That was your mind, Loki. Your mind playing tricks on you. Hel is waiting for you in the next life – she's dead. Divines, please, just remember that she's dead…"


	27. A New Hel

The children tended to Hel as she slept.

With a gentle touch, the smaller ones washed her face with water from a nearby puddle, and did their best to scrub the dirt from her clothes. So careful were they that the girl almost shone under the moonlight. Eir, still unconscious, had been dragged to one of the trees and left there with a pile of leaves as bedding, but the children avoided her like the plague. After attacking Hel, she had lost her status. No longer an upholder of civilised society, the Giantess was shunned by the very things she had saved, abandoned so they could cling to destroyed tradition, something they knew.

A storm was brewing. There hadn't been a storm since the attack. Somehow, the thunder was comforting, and the biggest child told them all that it was Thor looking down on them. No one ever wondered aloud if Hel had managed to contact her father. All they did was keep themselves busy with a fire, washing Hel and making food, not caring if the storm destroyed their flames or set alight to the entire Forest.

"Geneva?"

Eir's child – a beautiful girl, with soft brown locks and her father's nose, always to be found in a carpenter's shop learning the trade – was busy tending to Hel when her name was called, and her eyes flashed when she turned. She saw Lars looking at her, who was the one of the three boys they travelled with, and softened.

"What?" Hel's face twitched as Geneva started washing it again.

"What will we do now?"

"Hel will know," she assured him, "Hel will give us a path."

"What about Eir?"

"Mother's shown her uselessness. Her mind is breaking. Why else would she attack Hel?" Hel shoved Geneva back in her unconsciousness, as though she were facing demons that terrified her, before settling again. They sat in silence for a few moments. When they were sure she wasn't waking up, the washing started again.

Streams ran down her pale cheeks as rain started, and the children rushed to pull her away from the boulder to a more comfortable place. The canopy of leaves above them stopped the fire from going out; they put her near it in the hopes it would be warm enough.

"Geneva?"

"Yes, Lars?" the girl had gone back to washing Hel. It seemed the right thing to do, something she would have done if she were a Queen's maid and the Queen was incapable, but there was a sliver of doubt in her that the situation was normal.

Lars looked at her, fear in his eyes, before he cleared his throat and said, "What will we do with Eir? When Hel wakes up?"

"We tie her up, keep her controlled," it was the biggest who spoke. He pushed aside some of the smaller ones to stand in front of Lars, puffing out his weak chest in an attempt to look assertive. "She attacked Hel – Hel's our princess. No matter what happens or what will happen, that doesn't change."

It was at that moment that their princess screamed. A deep, bloodcurdling scream, which scattered living creatures and made the birds squawk as they flurried away. The children jumped back as she rose to her feet, brushing the leaves off of her coat before she stormed to the clearing just a little ways away from them, where the rain was pouring hard.

"Hel!"

"No!" she shouted, "I am not Hel! I was never Hel! He lied to me!"

Geneva moved towards her, but she wasn't able to calm her down. Her presence only made Hel angrier. The girl's eyes glowed as trees shook around her, boulders exploding as she moved past them, and somewhere in the distance the thunder rumbled.

"What's wrong?!"

"He's not going to save us! My father has renounced me!" she threw her hands out, and a tree was ripped straight from the ground. It crashed through the oaks, undisturbed for thousands of years, destroying them in a matter of seconds.

"You have to-"

"Speak not to me!" she turned to glare at the biggest, "What am I? Who am I? Your princess? No – to be a princess I must have a father, a prince, or a mother, a Queen, and yet I have neither! You will not call me a princess!"

Geneva threw up her hands, "Okay! That's fine!"

Instantly, Hel seemed to calm. Her glowing green eyes dulled until she was actually looking at them, not through a fog of emerald and ruby, amethyst.

But she had not lost her anger. That was still there, alive like the beating heart of a wildebeest, and yet her mind was working at a million miles an hour. The Forest. She was still in the Forest. And she still had her band of loyal children, whether or not she was accepting her status as princess.

"Where is Eir?" her voice was suddenly cold, as if she were calculating something.

"Asleep, in the Forest."

"No more. I will no longer have my father's people here."

Geneva's eyes flashed. She was loyal to her princess, perhaps more so than Loki, but she couldn't stop the tingle of fear that coursed through her body. Why was there such coldness in her voice? What had happened to the soft, sympathetic Hel they knew?

"What should we do?" it was the biggest who spoke. Deftly loyal, he would never argue against Hel, not after she had changed so much. He was afraid to.

Her next words were filled with the ice of Jotunheim.

"She's asleep. Why must she wake? Take a rock, and she will never have to worry about taking care of us again."

Shock waves rippled through the children. A stunned silence fell over them, broken only by the thunder rumbling overhead, and Hel's laboured breathing as she stared out at her followers.

"I'll do it."

The eyes turned. Instead of looking at Hel, they were now looking at the speaker, the one who had just volunteered to kill Eir.

Geneva.

Lars went to speak, but Hel cut him off, "Good. It is better that you do it. We must cut all ties; our mothers, our fathers – they have all renounced us in their own way, and now we must do the same. Find the rock, Geneva. Take it and be my loyal follower."

She left the clearing. No one followed her. Hel felt it was a fitting end – the mother killed by her own daughter, their saviour turned into their sacrifice.

The girl turned as lightning forked across the sky, and listened as the sound of thunder echoed through the trees. They groaned with the storm, rivalling it, masking whatever was happening in the Forest behind them whilst the children stared at their new leader.

Again, it was the biggest who spoke, "What happened?"

Memories flooded her mind. Her father hugging her, and then pushing her away. Telling her that she was no longer his girl or Hel. What was she, then? For so long she had been his princess; she didn't know what else to be.

"My father is the Trickster, is he not?"

"That's true."

"And he played the greatest trick of all on me. He made me believe I was loved. He made me think that he alone knew me. My mother brought me into this world and he taught me how it worked. But now he has taught me a new lesson."

"What is that?"

"That sentiment is a stupid thing!" she turned. Her raven black hair was plastered to her forehead and her coat drenched. The rain was turning her bath into a complete redundancy.

"He took my pleas and he turned them into weaknesses! He knows where we are, yet he refuses to come back here and save us! He cares nothing for me! He cares nothing for Giantland! Oh, how I wish I were an orphan – Muspelheim may have taken my mother and stolen my home, but if they pour my father's blood…I shall not seek revenge!"

As she ranted and raved, she caught something in the corner of her eye. Hel turned to look at it.

The lightning had forked to glow against the golden lock of her box. In a fit of rage she picked it up, cleaned the mud from its surface and opened it, staring into the once-meaningful now-hurtful contents.

The children watched as she picked each and every letter out. In one hand she set fire to them, and let them fall to the ground as ash.

Next came the gifts. They were all destroyed, either by fire or frost, gravity or force. It was only when she chanced on the amethyst that she stopped, pulling it out to hold it against the sky.

Geneva stepped out of the Forest, covered in blood. Her eyes were both horrified and hardened, but the rock was no longer in her hand. The deed had been done. Hel's Giantland had been sanctified in a way no one would have thought her capable.

Placing the amethyst against her face, Hel closed her eyes, sucking a spell between her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, they were no longer green, but the glowing amethyst that was now stained red in her hand.

"We are responsible for ourselves now," she told them, "And I am your Queen. I am not your princess. If I hear anyone speaking about my father, or even eluding to his existence, they will be killed – thrown out and exiled, if I'm feeling generous. I am NOT your god, my people."

She tightened her grip on the rock.

"But I am your saviour."


	28. Survival, and How to Survive it

Hel leaned against a boulder, her glowing amethyst eyes staring off into the darkness. There was no one around her – no one save the upturned soil of Eir's grave, marked by her murder weapon – and the peace was almost overwhelming.

The children had left her to hunt for food. She'd insisted that they do it, but only going if they had promised her they wouldn't damage the Forest in anyway, as for some reason Hel felt that was rude. Who were they to ruin such a land? Something that had been there before any of their ancestors had been born, rising up from saplings to stroke the cloud-swathed skies above? If they were to conquer the land and not just give off the illusion of ownership, the princess knew they would first had to learn how it worked, which would take more time and more exploration than her lineage had been prepared for.

"_I know a secret in the land,_" she sang to pass the time, making up the lyrics as she went, "_I know an animal stronger than man – a creature with teeth and sharpened claws, and great red eyes and massive paws. It prowls and stalks and claims our lives. It doesn't care; it must survive. And survival to one is death to a hundred – here we are, we must survive._"

If Loki could see his Hel now, he would be shattered. If he could see how her small frame was propped up by that rock, how her eyes glared out hard and cruel and her mouth was nothing more than a discontented slash across her face, he would have questioned if she was really his daughter at all. How could one so young go through such a terrifying transformation? How could he have left her a privileged, talented student, only to have her turn into this murdering psychopath?

"My Queen!" came a yelp. Hel ducked her head down to avoid staring into Geneva's eyes, so intense were they that she felt they could sear her skin and set fire to her frozen heart.

"What is it?" they ambled out of the shadows with deer slung over their backs. 'Deer' was a generous name – they were more like baby foals which had wandered too far from their mothers, and had paid the price in blood. A pang went off in her heart as she caught sight of the cold, lifeless young eyes, glazed over in terror before one of her followers had dealt the killing blow.

"A way to contact the outside! A way to be saved!"

The thought which sent waves of excitement through the children made Hel freeze in her place. As Geneva began explaining to her about an enchanted pool – a pool she swore she could see the likes of Valenheim in, with their strange-eared elves and half-formed women – the Queen thought about how easy it would have been to just go to that pool instead, and how perhaps her father would have been much kinder on her if he could see how hard their predicament was.

"No!" she turned. The foal's head lolled on Lars' back. Poor thing – neck snapped, a quick and painless death, and certainly one she hoped for it.

"Why not?"

"Why not, she asks! Why not! If we were meant to be rescued, Geneva, the Trickster would have sent for us! Do you not see?! Do you not understand what has happened here?!"

The girl stepped back as everything around Hel was enveloped by a purple light, "No?"

"We were attacked, and now that our home is destroyed they don't care for us! Our resources, our society, our homes; they are gone, and so is Asgard's interest in our lives!" the boulder Hel had been lying on flew between the trees, landing with a soft explosion somewhere in the distance, "Anymore talk of contacting the outside realms will be regarded as treachery! This pool – where is it?"

"Please do not destroy it, Hel; just in case you change your mind and want to see the outside lands?"

"Oh, I will not destroy it, my loyal servant," she chuckled darkly, "I will keep it close to me, as I would an enemy's beating heart. I will watch the realms, learn their people and know them intimately, like I were their Queen and their friend. Watch, my subjects. We may be the most under-resourced civilisation, and our faces may be young, but we shall be the most informed."


	29. A Purpose after Death

In all of the sorrow and heartache, at least one man was happy.

Surtur held a celebration for the death of Hel; he brought his people together in a feast, with red wine to drink like blood and huge hog roasts in the middle of elongated tables, each one corked with an apple in its mouth as the Fire Giants revelled in their victory. The battle had turned! They had killed an enemy! An enemy, so small and fragile, living peacefully in her home as their petty war took her father away.

"My people!" he cried from the platform of his throne, arms stretched either side of him, "Tonight we celebrate our achievements! We welcome back Orvar and his men as the heroes they are! Our victory is all but upon us – we have taken Asgard to war, and now we have broken their defence!"

A deafening roar was his response. It reverberated off the black walls and made the cracks hiss steam, scorching the foot of a young Fire Giant as his parents yelled in triumph. The child was dead! Hel had been killed, and though they had no body to show for it, they had anecdotes more vivid than their own sight.

"But, we can't afford to lose sight of things," Surtur brought the fever-pitch down again, "We cannot underestimate our enemies any more than they can underestimate us. They have seen what we can do, but who's to say they will not respond in kind? I have made a sacrifice by shedding Hel's blood, my people; keep your children close to you, for the Trickster will surely seek revenge!"

A hundred hands snatched at little children next to them, who were only about three foot in height, and they cried out as they imagined Loki taking them away. What monster would kill their innocent young Giant-lings? Of course Hel's death didn't count; that was an act of war, a necessary thing to do, since Asgard wouldn't accept their King's reign and had forced them all into this predicament. It was really Asgard's fault for not protecting her. After all, who would have left the girl with such poor defences – a mother, and a herd of Giants who were no more skilled in fighting than they were at threading needles? Loki wouldn't take the lives of innocent children, would he?

The God paced the war room of the palace. He wanted to be in Muspelheim right that second. He wanted to be doing something, attacking something, getting revenge for the blood spilt in Giantland and the kidnapping of his wife. A thought niggled in the back of his mind about what they would say to each other when they met again, but it dissipated almost as quickly as it came.

Odin had walked in.

"I thought you would be here sooner?!" Loki growled, "I've been standing here like an oaf, waiting for you to arrive so we can make some definitive plans!"

The King waved his hand as he walked to the table placed in the middle of the room. It was filled with diagrams, maps and strategic points of attack, but nothing that would actually be useful to them if they didn't talk about them first.

"Your mother wished for my attendance to a meeting for young warriors."

"Oh, how lovely," he quipped, "And I suppose these young warriors are being prepped for the war? The war we have yet to make a solid formation for?!"

"Loki, you remember how important it is for the warriors to see their King," another voice filled the room – Thor, who had been busy that morning training, and would have forgotten about their meeting had it not been for a maid mentioning it. "They're boys in a man's field. They need to feel valued."

"Forgive me for believing a better way to value them would be making sure they don't die on the battlegrounds. I just assumed our brave and noble army would prefer to stay standing!"

"Do not take that tone with us, Loki. We know you're anxious to go back to battle."

"Then why make me wait?!" clutching the bridge of his nose as he leant over the table, Loki tried to calm himself. He could feel the corners of his eyes turning red; he knew that if he kept up this pace, he would get himself so worked up he wouldn't be able to concentrate on what was going on. A clear head was necessary for what they were discussing. He needed to be able to picture the scenes in his mind – the great black hills of Muspelheim, the halls, the broken little villages forgotten by their King.

In his room earlier that morning, before the sun had come up, Loki had planned a lot. Their army would sneak up through the Eastern Hills of Muspelheim, keeping themselves unnoticeable with black armour as they advanced on the unknowing Kingdom. They would recruit people who knew the land; those villages would become their allies and their allies would become their guides, determined to see their unjust King cast from his throne and torn away from his crown.

"Your mind's busy," Odin noted, "That's good. You will need it. Every thought you have, every emotion; take it and store it away, so when the time comes for you to make a harsh decision, you will remember the pain you felt."

The King rested his hand on Loki's shoulder, his eyes searing through his son's as if he were imparting glorious wisdom. Thor watched on in silence.

"I understand how much this pains you, Loki. I have lost many in battle. I have seen good men die and leave behind better wives – I have seen those men's children felled by the same fate, and all the time I thought to myself how this could be justice."

Loki's eyes flicked up to stare at Odin. In them was pain, so intense and noticeable that the King had to stop himself from gasping.

"Hel was a good granddaughter. She was loyal. She was clever. And we all know how much she loved you. Be calm, Loki; Surtur will pay dearly for what he's done, but you mustn't let your pain drive you to the unthinkable. Use it instead for those hard decisions. I swear to you, you will be a better man for it."

As he turned back to pick up some of the plans, his words ran through Loki's head. He could imagine saying something similar to someone else, were they in his situation. But they didn't know Hel, hadn't had his dreams, hadn't watched as she went from a squirming new-born to the curious magic-wielding toddler. They couldn't know the pain he felt. They could try out of love, but they would always fall short.

Hel pulled out a small pocket-knife from the rubble of her home. It had been left there to rot, as had all the relics of their society, but still there were useful things to be salvaged from the wreckages. Things like preserved food; the few clucking chickens; the horses who had been scared to the fields and stayed there out of shock. Her people looked on as she went through picture after picture, tucking only the ones of her mother away in her belt, before she thought better of it and turned them all to ash.

"Go," she instructed them, her voice like frost, "Find what you can and take it into the Forest. Only that which can be used. I want nothing of sentiment – nothing weighing us down we don't need."

Lars looked up, "Can I find my bear?"

His Queen stopped. As she stood on one of the broken support beams of her home, under a sky of black and grey, she looked more like a future warrior than a child. Her face was stained once more, but it was red, and her eyes were still that gleaming amethyst which turned her people's blood to ice.

Still, she softened when she looked at Lars. There was still a small part of her that gave sympathy – a small part of her that was human and not completely enraged.

"Yes," she whispered, "You can. But be warned, Lars. It will not be welcome if it brings us trouble."


	30. Promise Broken

By the time Loki had returned to Muspelheim, his anger had reached a point where he was quietly dismissive of things. He watched as people went about their lives and hated them for it. When a child ran in front of him and played with their father in the streets, he felt a flash of jealousy, a pang of longing, and found he had to restrain himself from playing a cruel trick on them. Muspelheim was dealing with a cold, cruel man. It wasn't until Surtur's blood had been spilt that Loki felt he could move on.

"Closure," Thor told the Warriors Three as they sat down to dinner. Each one looked over what they were holding to stare at him, prompting him to go on with his outburst.

"That's what Loki is looking for. Closure."

"Were I in his shoes, I'd seek the same," Fandral admitted before he took a large bite of bread, "That being said, were I in his shoes, I would have chosen someone with much more appeal than Angrboda."

Thor cast his friend a warning glance, "He mourns for Hel in a way I've never seen him mourn before. At night, in his sleep, he calls for her. I hear him speaking as though…as though she were still alive."

"That's to be expected, my friend. Think nothing of it; it's fuel for his anger, and once Surtur is defeated he'll recover."

Volstagg's beard dripped with mead as he spoke, which made Sif's nose wrinkle before she passed him a napkin. He took it from her with a smile, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe so," Thor sighed, "But for now he's in pain, and it hurts me to see. Loki has always been the more guarded of our family. But…Hel's death…"

Sif, abandoning her knife and fork on her plate to scoop the mutton leg up with her hands, stopped Thor before he could carry on with the thought. Her mouth full of meat and her eyes sparking wisdom, he tried his best to take what she said into account, yet somewhere in his mind he thought she was harsh.

"Loki's daughter is dead, and there is nothing we can do about that. If he wants to whine like a woman about it, let him. Hel's death doesn't stand between us and victory – it brings us closer, even, what with King Odin gaining the sympathy of Valenheim, and condolences from across the Nine Realms. We could harness that sympathy into extra manpower. Our princess is dead, Thor, but her death brings us the opportunities we need to win this war, and if she were old enough I'm sure she would have understood."

To say a spark of anger went off in Thor's heart would be an understatement. He felt as if he had to chastise Sif, tell her exactly what he thought about Hel's death and inform her it wasn't only Loki suffering with grief, but he thought better of it. Sif was one of his bravest warriors. She was a part of the Warriors Three, and to anger her would mean potentially endangering their bond. In a time like this, their bond was all they really had. And so he stayed silent, not defending his brother as he sat back in his seat, despite the fact it was all he wanted to do.

Loki listened in from the hallway. He had gone in search of Thor so they could take a walk, talk about how they were to attack Muspelheim. After hearing what Sif thought about his daughter's death – that it was just an advancement in a pointless war – his heart twisted, and his face changed until even his smile became cruel.

He turned, walking back to his tent somewhere in the distance. How he hated Sif. He hadn't before, but then she had never spoken about something that meaningful like it was a game. If anyone else was to die in this war, he prayed it would be her, and that her parents would view the loss of their daughter in much the same way as she viewed his.

Hel stared in to the enchanted pool. Her eyes glowed as a familiar shape began to appear on the surface, which itself was unnaturally still, and her breath caught in her throat as familiar pale features appeared.

She watched while her father walked through the battlefields, a cold smile on his face as he wandered over dying men. In her mind, a thousand thoughts exploded. Why was her father so happy? Why did he look so cruel? Had she been wrong all along – was he really a cruel, spiteful person, who cared little about anybody but himself? Her heart broke as she picked up a rock, aiming it for her father's face, and throwing it so hard that it skipped and the water rippled the image away.

"You liar!" she cried, because she was alone. The children had gone again to hunt; their makeshift shelters were being built out of what the attackers had left behind, and she was the one in charge of watching them until her people came back. It was her decision for it to be built near the pool. At least this way, she could go out and look at the other realms whenever it took her fancy, and she would never have to walk those terrifying roots of Yggdrasil without first being prepared.

"You liar! You Trickster! I've wasted my time loving you, wasted my infancy…wasted everything! My feet bled when I ran after you! My heart bled for your letters! And yet still I waited, waited here, and Muspelheim attacked us!"

She threw more stones into the water, even though her father's face had vanished.

"I sacrificed everything in the hopes that we would be reunited! I sacrificed comfort and stability so you could save me and then my mother! You would sooner have me dead! I am dead to you! You promised me!"

The toddler stumbled back until she was sitting on the embankment. Fresh tears rolled down her face as she gazed out at the water, stilling once more to that unnatural position.

"You didn't come back…"


	31. Down the Line

The months passed.

With them came rain, and with that came sunlight. Saplings grew out of the ash Muspelheim left behind. Every time Hel came across a new one, she'd smile and whispered some sort of enchantment to give it good roots, as though she were a gardener taking care of her employer's flowerbeds. But as the days grew shorter the children found themselves cold at night; Hel saw this, and her heart bled when she saw young Lars shivering against his teddy bear.

"Today," she announced one morning over breakfast, sitting on one of the tree stumps as Geneva busied herself with setting the 'table' – really, just a fallen log, "we must find shelter."

The biggest put down his deer leg to stare at her. He noted how her eyes seemed vibrant but the sockets sunken, dark crescent moons highlighting where she'd not slept, and the way her mouth quivered when she dragged her eyes through the people. There was something about Hel's manner that didn't sit right with him. Her nervous titch was new; her eye would wink every now and again like invisible sunlight was baring down on her, and the biggest wondered if she was beginning to lose her edge.

"Why?"

She fixed him with her amethyst stare, "Because the nights are growing colder. Should we keep sleeping in the starlight, it'll be the very last thing we see."

"Where do you suggest we find shelter? There's nothing here – rubble from Giantland and bark from trees. What can we make from that?"

"The rubble can be used as material for walls and the bark can be used as a roof. Geneva, you can find twine for us, can you not?"

The beautiful girl nodded at her, blunted nails tapping on her food as she hummed out an old lullaby. She'd tried to stay out of the way as much as possible. The way Hel spoke frightened her. These days it seemed more like the creatures in her storybooks than anything else, with ice and fire in perfect unison, stressed harmony between two forces of evil.

"That's what we shall do today. I want no arguing."

"No one would argue with you, my Queen," the biggest took a deep breath, "Though I feel a suggestion may-"

"Suggestions aren't given to Kings and Queens– they are given to servants, and disposed of accordingly."

"Hel-"

"You will do this," her voice became low and threatening, the tone in it so fierce that it could have flattened even a hardened warrior, "or you will take to the Forest alone."

With no more room for discussion or argument, the children looked at one another, and nodded. There was nothing else they could do. Hel's eyes sparked that menacing amethyst and her lips squeezed together, making her seem more like a maddened tyrant than anything else. And yet, all the while there was something pleading in her nature.

_Do not force my hand. Do not make me become something I'm not. Please, just let me help you._

"Yes, Hel," the biggest sighed as he cast a glance to Geneva, "We'll do as you ask."


	32. A Different Man

As time went on Loki slowly grew angrier, to the point where Thor had to take him aside and chastise him for his methods. The Trickster would torture prisoners, extracting their confessions by force, and it was only when his brother intervened that he stopped his ruthless interrogations.

"They know where Surtur is!" he exclaimed as Thor recited another lecture to him, "And they know his defences! They know his weaknesses, his land, his mountains – if you want to stand aside and let that knowledge go to waste, by all means do so, but I will not let golden opportunities pass us by!"

Thor steadied him by the shoulders. His grip was hard and his eyes harder, as if telling Loki he was walking on thin ice, yet there was more to it than that. The way his lips mashed together and his nostrils flared told Loki all his brother wanted to do was go about the quick and easy way to end their war, which had gone on for longer than anticipated and claimed many lives. It was through will and blind righteousness that he stopped himself.

"There's nothing to be gained from torture, Loki. You know that as well as I."

"And yet, it's only through torture that we've advanced!" he gestured to their surroundings in a wild demonstration.

Over the few months, their armies had seen great success. Fortresses on all sides of Surtur's defence were ash and rubble, torn down and demolished, and the poor soldiers that had guarded them were obliterated. Loki had single-handedly been responsible for the defeat of a unit not far from where they were now – a cold, black rock place where the lava didn't flow, and the trenches were so deep they were more like gorges. Jagged edges cut warrior's eyes if they didn't look where they were going and the tents had to be set up in the middle, but it was an area they felt would be most strategic for them, and an area where they could rest their heads.

Thor caught his wrists in a desperate attempt to regain control, "Loki, your anger is becoming too great. Hel's death was near on six months ago. Surely time has healed your pain?"

Laughter echoed through the gorge. It was so cruel and full of ice that the warriors looked up, before scuttling away into their tents when they saw Loki's bared smile. The God was going mad, they swore. Rumours flew around the camp; some were claiming Hel's spirit had possessed her father and was seeking revenge against Surtur, whilst others said a sickness had taken him and he wasn't fit for war. Whatever the case, they knew Loki was not of a sound mind.

"Healed my pain? Six months is enough to heal a hundred years' worth of child-rearing? My Hel was but a child – she was only a hundred years old, Thor, and you think six months will…make me forget?"

He opened his palms and pushed his bottom lip above his top, his tone condescending as he gazed at his brother. Thor was frozen in place as Loki began to pace around him.

"My anger's only grown. For every year my Hel lived, Surtur will spend in pain. A hundred years after we capture him, I will kill him. But not before I have hung him upside down and let Jorgmundr bite him over and over again. Not before I throw him to my 'grey-furred puppy' and let him feel his anger. Not before I've brought an entire house down on him, only to revive him and do it again. He will know what he's done to me. He will feel my pain for a hundred years, and as I'm faced with what he's done for the rest of my life, it is a light sentence."

Thor, mesmerised by the mask his brother was wearing, could only watched as he circled him, not recognising the man he'd once called his best friend. His rage was so great that he could have been Surtur himself. And yet, there was still that little fragment of Loki in there – the loving father Thor had known still existed in some twisted, sadistic way, and he only cried for blood because his daughter had such a painful, unjust end.

The leader in Thor came out as he stretched his hand, catching his brother by the shoulder to stop his circling.

"You must be reasonable, Loki. There's no more room for torture. Enough violence goes on outside of these walls; do you wish to add to it? Do you think Hel would recognise you were she to see you now?"

"What does it matter?" he shook off the hand, "What does it matter if she saw me now? She would know in her heart that I do this out of my love for her. I love her, Thor. Not 'loved' – love. Even in death she remains my little girl."

"It's been six months, Loki! You are no longer the father of a little girl!"

"You're wrong!"

The brothers were suddenly chest-to-chest, with nostrils flared and tension high. Blue and green eyes glared into each other as all of their anger bled through their skin, and the air turned heavy around them with the weight of their fury.

"Six months!" Thor reiterated, "And in those six months, you've become a tyrant! Hel's father was a decent man! He was a man who believed in justice and honour, but you?! You're not that man anymore!"

"Do not test me, Thor!"

"Or what, brother?! You will torture me just as you do our prisoners? You will lie me down on a bed and take my skin? Do it – I won't stop you. But with each unjust action you make, Loki, Hel's father disappears from you, and soon enough you will be no more him than you were her."

Loki's anger was disappearing. He could see what Thor was saying; in the months Hel had been dead, he had changed. But wasn't it understandable? Could nobody see how much pain he was in? All he wanted was to see Surtur suffer, and then he was sure he would be able to rest. He hadn't slept in days. Every dream he had was the house falling on Hel, playing on repeat until he was violently awoken by another attack.

He gazed up into Thor's eyes, a hint of sadness in his face, "Do you truly think me a different man?"

His voice was so meek Thor almost didn't know what to say. One part of him screamed to make his point known, to storm off and refuse to speak to his brother until he had cleared his head. And another part – the softer, more understanding part – wanted to hold Loki until he had no more tears left to cry.

"No," he said as he rested a hand on the God's head, "But be careful, brother. It's easy to lose ourselves in these times. For Hel, you must keep your head."


	33. Eighty Years On

And soon enough, the months turned into years, and the years turned into decades. The war raged until even Muspelheim was cracking under the weight of it. Loki and Thor stayed on the front line with every ounce of strength they had, watching good men fall every day, remembering their own losses as they cut down army after army of Fire Giants. The blood haunted them with each breath they took. They saw their reflections in the occasional hot springs they would stumble across, and realise too late that they were getting tired.

Hel grew into a young girl – no longer a toddler, she ruled over her people with a fair but firm fist. The Giant-lings became Giants in their own right, until they could reach up and pet their growing oaks like animals, and with each new summer came new creatures to revitalise their land. Their homes were but a ramshackle assortment of buildings made from the rubble of the old world. They held fast against the winds, though, and in the rain they could crawl inside to wait for the sun.

The Queen had been practising her magic ever since she was a toddler. There was still a burning hatred in her heart for her father and, in some ways, mourning for what she'd lost, but nothing would stop her from mastering her art, not after so much agony having it weld itself to her.

Loki advanced on the great walls of Muspelheim's castle. After almost eighty years, they were close to their victory. He could see the great, ugly thing painted black against the sky, with jagged towers and glowing red windows, guards on every raised platform of the gothic palace. He thought back to Asgard where the palace was a source of light, and supressed a shiver when he thought about returning there.

"It's been a long time, brother," Thor said behind him as they peeked out from the rocks. Their entire army sat behind them, rejuvenating themselves on the meagre supplies of water and food. In their ranks were a few Fire Giants – those that had survived the purges of their villages, and those who had refused to follow Surtur into war.

"Yes." He replied. His eyes watched the guard's movements carefully, never drawing away from them as the blood pounded through his ears and his heart thudded against his ribcage.

"Loki."

He turned, only to be confronted with his brother's soft face and warm smile, so damnably genuine that it almost broke the God's heart.

"She would be proud of what you've done here. You've saved countless lives. She would be honoured to have been your daughter."

Tears welled up and threatened to spill over Loki's eyelids. He'd not thought about Hel in a long time – he had tried to forget so he could focus on the war, and yet at the mention of her name it felt like her death was only yesterday. The withered, black heart he was sure he held jumped for a moment as he imagined her little face; his innocent little girl, dead and gone for eighty years, and finally he was to avenge that death.

Hel touched the enchanted pool with the tip of her finger. Instantly, she felt its energy crawling through her, its whispers a hot breath against her ear as a thousand people began to ripple to the surface.

There, she saw him – her father, who she had watched since their discovery of the pool, only to curse and condemn him for forgetting his promise. The children…the Giants watched behind her with interest in their eyes. Never had they said to Hel they should have seen where their other parents went; Lars had made that mistake once, and he had paid the price.

"I want to see my grandfather." She announced. The still air jumped around her; her voice was so cold, so unforgiving that even the animals froze into place, but none of the Giants reacted. They had heard her voice as it grew hard. They had watched whilst it infused itself with hatred and pain, and the result to them was the truth of what they had been through.

"By all means, my Queen," Geneva bent her head down, kneeling next to Hel in a respectable manner, "Look."

Whispering under her breath, the child put her finger to the water; "_Show me what I haven't seen – show me my grandfather, Silver Sheen."_

It was the only clutching of innocence they had, naming the pool. It was the biggest, who now went by the name Orvar, who suggested they should call it Silver Sheen, since it glinted in the sunlight and glowed with the stars. Hel had let the name be given; it mattered little to her what it was called, just so long as it worked and worked well.

An image began to appear in front of them. The Giants leaned forward, eager to see the face of the King they now hated, but what they saw was very different. Geneva gasped as the familiar icy world appeared. Lars with the scarred face scrambled back when the Frost Giants appeared. Even Orvar shivered as the other Giants ran behind him, yet Hel stayed in a stunned stillness, watching whilst a strange, recognisable face began to ripple in front of her.

Laufey of Jotunheim.

"I said my grandfather!" she hit the water, sending shockwaves through it until Laufey had disappeared, "I said my grandfather! That's Jotunheim, not Asgard! Silver Sheen!"

Orvar stepped forward, "My Queen, has Silver Sheen's magic depleted?"

"No."

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Speak," she commanded, and then raised her index finger, "But speak wisely."

He stepped forward. With a shaking hand, he pressed it against the water, and then spoke in a voice so low that it made birds fly out of their nests.

"_For my Queen, dear Silver Sheen, show us Odin and his court, and his son that battle brought."_

A second later, Odin was sitting on the throne in front of them, looking old and tired as Frigga tended to his hair. Beside him was Thor with his golden mane and steady hand, weary on his feet as he hid behind some huge rock.

But no Loki.

Hel smiled. Her face was cruel.

"Oh my," she giggled, "And here was I thinking my lineage was noble."


	34. The End of the Beginning

Surtur slashed his sword again, but Asgard's forces seeped around it and carried on their attack. All around was the hot smell of fire, burning, and blood, mixed in a cocktail of agony as his men – his loyal, stupid men – started to fall, and streams of green magic blasted through his red-skinned ranks.

"Surtur!" a familiar voice howled above the din. The King's blood froze when he recognised it, heard the fury infused with his name and, somehow, felt sorrow punctuating it, as if their meeting had been long standing.

"Prince of Asgard!" he mocked, climbing up to the platform of his throne so he could better see the battle. "Loki!"

There the God was; standing in the middle of a clear patch of ground, whilst all around him was fighting and brandished swords, the blood of men he'd come to know spilling as he fixed Surtur with an icy glare. The two watched each other for what felt like an eternity. Loki saw the Giant who was responsible for so much death, so much injustice and famine and disease, and his vision went red. Surtur saw only the man that stood in the way of him and the throne. There was a small part of him that remembered what he had done, but no matter how that whispered he still believed he had done it for the good of his people.

"You will die today!" Loki screamed. A green stream came at Surtur, but the King managed to dodge it before it touched him.

"We'll see about that, Prince!"

They dove into the skirmish without so much as a second thought. Cutting, stabbing, wounding and maiming their way to each other, Loki thought to himself that the moment was finally upon him – soon enough, he would have revenge for the death of his daughter.

Thor cut through the ranks of the creatures with red skin, making sure they died with one sword strike before he slammed his hammer on the ground. The bodies flew away from him to hit their comrades. His conscience was dying as he watched blood pool around his feet and saw the crimson oozing through his fingers, but he kept going for the sake of Asgard, for the sake of all that was good and just in a universe too long at war.

"My people!" Odin called to his court. He'd received word that Thor and Loki had taken Surtur's castle, and in his heart there was a bloom of hope that soon peace would be restored. But there was a pressing matter to attend to. A matter that made him weary every time he thought about it, as it only added to his stress.

"Yes, sire?" asked one of the noblemen in front of him. He would hardly call them noble now. With rags where fine robes had been, crowns and tiaras taken to be melted down for weapons, the people sitting on his long table were just another result of a long and tedious battle. They had lost their lustre for life as they saw so much extinguished. They had lost hope that Surtur would ever give up his mad plot, and as their own children succumbed to Muspelheim's biting steel and fiery pits, whatever strength they had left in their bones was used no more for optimism.

Odin stepped down so he could stand at the head of the table. His throne gleamed behind him, brimming with the good news after so long of bad, and he hoped that the sparks of light in his noble court's eyes were the sparks of the future.

"My sons have taken Surtur's castle! When they have captured him, this war shall be over!"

Cheers were yelped through the still air of the throne-room, so loud and welcome that Odin almost let himself laugh. His noblemen jumped up to embrace each other whilst the noblewomen broke down in tears, some sobbing for the loss of their dear children, others for the safety of theirs.

"And yet, there is only one matter we must attend to."

The smartest nobleman turned around. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his smile never left his face, but even though he looked like that Odin knew he was thinking the same thing.

"Niflheim needs a new ruler." He stated simply, taking his seat beside another sobbing noblewomen. His wife, perhaps, or a sister who he was quite close to; the King never took much notice of relationships outside of his court.

"Yes," the other court men took their places as the King sat on a rather large seat at the head, which appeared out of thin air and glittered with magic, "When Surtur's army was let loose in Niflheim, its King was taken and beheaded as an offering to their own. Now, Death's seat has no sitter."

A sombre air hung over the room. It wasn't as suffocating as it had been before – their happy interlude had taken some of the weight off – yet there was still that urgency in it, something that told them the matter was pressing and had to be corrected.

"The souls of Niflheim need a ruler just as much as Asgard's warriors need Valhalla. I wish it were not so, that a King could be killed and sent to his own kingdom, but now that it's happened we must elect someone in his place."

"What about Surtur? Surely he will be sated with Death's Rule?"

"I won't be responsible for putting that monster on a throne. By the end of this war, he'll be locked away in the dungeons until Loki has convinced me of torture!" Odin saw red for a brief moment. He sat back to collect himself, breathing out a technique he had seen his wife use during her funny turns, and then sat forward so he could address his court properly.

Hel looked down into Silver Sheen as the scene in front of her played out. It seemed that Asgard had quite the problem on its hands – a land without a ruler, and a King laid to waste. The Giants around her went about their work whilst all she could do was listen in, an idea sparking in her mind which made her smile grow genuine.

"How long has it been since we were attacked, my friends?" she asked. The Giants turned.

Lars, with his horrifically scarred face, spoke first, "Near on eighty years, my queen."

"Ah; and yet we are now the only civilisation no longer in the war. Our maturity knows no bounds."

"What are they saying, my queen? Are we allowed to know?"

"Of course."

Hel went through the entire story with them. All the way through it, a smile sat on her face, something real and tangible rather than the fake smiles she had always put on. The Giants listened in a stunned silence whilst she rambled on to the end, and then could only sit there once she'd finished.

She allowed them a moment's pause before speaking.

"I intend to pay a visit to Asgard."

The Giants gasped in unison.

"But, my queen-!"

"There's too much-"

"They would surely capture you!"

She silenced them with a wave of her hand, "I will go to them, and they will hear my plan. It's impossible they will not see the benefit of it. And, who knows? Perhaps by the time I figure out how to go there, this war will be a distant memory…"

Loki stormed through the castle with blood on his hands. The ranks of Muspelheim lay dead behind him – they were an afterthought, and the broken beaten Surtur was being tied up to seek fair trial in Asgard. He cared about just one thing now.

Throwing open door after door, he found the villagers of Giantland as mere shadows of what they were. Tortured and forced into slavery, he saw friends so thin their ribcages were showing; some barely recognised him, and cowered away in the corners begging to be left alone.

But then he threw open the last door. Infused with iron, bolted by steel, Loki had to use his magic to melt the metal into slag, and when he threw it open he saw who he'd been looking for.

"Angrboda…"

His wife was a mess. Her hair was thin and matted with dirt. Her clothes were rags barely enough to cover her, stained by what looked to be blood and soot, whilst her eyes – once so vibrant ad alive with the hunt – had dulled, until he wasn't sure he was looking at his wife anymore.

She looked up at him, and he saw Surtur had clasped an iron collar around her neck and chained it to the wall. The only source of light was from a single candle flickering in a black-iron sconce fixed to the cold brick. Hay was scattered everywhere. Loki wanted to be sick.

But as they looked at each other, they said all they needed to. The non-verbal apologies and never-said condolences. The underused 'I love you's' hung in the air.

The healers streamed past him and started to work on freeing Angrboda. She could only look at him with those dark eyes, allowing her malnourished body to be manoeuvred at the healer's will.

And then, as if by some mutual agreement, Loki turned away and began to walk down the hall, never looking back at the woman he'd called a wife.


	35. The Future is Now

Hel flinched back from Silver Sheen. The water felt electrified. Every ounce of magical ability inside her sparked when she touched her beloved pool, and it hadn't done that before.

"What is it, Silver?" she purred as she reached down again, her knees digging into the soil below, "Are we not the only two magic creatures here? Come, tell me what's wrong."

Silver Sheen had always had a life of its own; something underneath the glittering surface which only Hel could speak to, and never in words. It was more an intrinsic understanding between them than anything else. The pool would show her things not meant for human eyes and in turn she would tell it things not meant for human ears. Now, it seemed that their friendship had taken a new, more sinister turn.

Hel stroked the water with the tip of her finger, and suddenly everything was clear.

She'd never felt the heightened sense of being that she felt now. As Silver Sheen's magic rose up and surrounded her, the Queen saw everything she could ever hope to – the galaxies whirling past her, flurries of stars going at full speed into the black Void behind and, in the distance, the gleaming world of Asgard, where she'd business with her once-relative.

Silver Sheen spoke to her in a way it never had before, yet still she couldn't tell whether it was male or female. The question had irritated her ever since she first began speaking with the pool. Her people thought – she made them think – it was just an enchanted thing, but they should have known all magic had a being, and all being had a conscious.

Hel didn't know how, but she put everything Silver Sheen was showing her into words, words which it never said out loud or even hinted to. And yet, it had never steered her wrong when she followed these words.

_Yggdrasil shall take you home._

She nodded. The universe became stationary again, until she was drifting between the planets like a baby drifted into the realms of sleep. Hel watched as the brightly coloured galaxies and strange stars enveloped empty space; she had looked up at night when she was alone, wondering what it was like to walk the beautiful trails imprinted in the sky, and now she was doing so it was almost enough to make her happy.

_Magic will guide a magic-wielder. Trust in your skills._

And without warning, she was back in the Forest, surrounded by those great oaks which now towered between their homes and shaded them from the sun. The Giants were busy tending to their gardens, but Lars watched his Queen so intently that they thought he might have melted.

"Thank you," Hel whispered as she stroked the silvery waters, "You are my greatest ally, Silver Sheen."

Loki sat in the throne-room of Asgard. He had washed and replaced his war clothes with something more comfortable; a prince robe of green and black, patterned by artistry too beautiful for canvases. As he hid away from the people congratulating him on ending the war, his thoughts went back to how he was before it had started, and began to take stock of what he'd lost.

A home. He'd lost a place where he rested his head and slept soundly every night. The artwork, the counters, the books and studies, his research; everything he'd stored away and stockpiled was gone, and it had been gone for so long that the anger was now just a hollow ache in his stomach.

Friends. He'd seen many good friends die. Each night seemed to bring with it a platoon of bodies which before had been strong men, walking over to each other and whistling merry tunes despite their situation. Thor and Loki were lucky their lives hadn't been claimed, when so many others had lost themselves to Valhalla.

A wife. He and Angrboda were finished – there was no recovering from what had happened to them. Absence may have made the heart grow fonder, but absence in such a serious time just made Loki's wither and die, until he wasn't sure he even cared if he'd have found his wife again. Whatever the case, they had both lost something precious to them.

A daughter. So many times he had been over her death, and still it hurt to think about. The God had promised his sons that they would soon meet and talk about her, as he felt his entire family had been obliterated by the death of one, yet the war had continued on and he'd lost contact with Fenrir and Jorgmundr. He assumed they had both grown bored with his promises and took to their own routines. He only hoped they could forgive him for losing their baby sister.

And there he was now, sitting in a throne-room with no family near him – not Odin nor Frigga, Thor nor the twins – as the people outside called for celebrations. Their cries were muffled to the point where he couldn't hear what they were saying. He pressed his head against the wall and listened to the blood beating through his ears, before a niggling thought crept into his head that he'd put off…

_If I died, would I be with her again?_

Taking unnecessary risks at war, Loki wasn't afraid of death. He wasn't afraid of saying goodbye to everyone on one plane to go to the next. He wanted his Hel, his daughter, and after so long fighting in a war that claimed her life he thought he was at least allowed that. Why have a noble death, when he could save countless people and then slip away unheard?

Hel stepped up to her Giants. Her eyes glinted that wicked amethyst as she held out her palm, showing them how it had become stained black, like she had spilt ink into a strange tree-shape on her hand.

"Loki?"

The God looked up to see Sigyn walking towards him. She was still so beautiful. The war hadn't aged her even a bit, and she glided across the hall like a nymph on water, smiling at him as her deep blue eyes glistened with awe.

"Sigyn," he greeted before shuffling over on the ledge. She sat beside him with the same smile on her face.

"Why aren't you outside? The people want their war-hero!"

Loki looked away, "Thor's with them. Let them have their 'war-hero.' He's their knight in shining armour – I? I did this for my own end."

He felt a warm hand touch the back of his, and when he looked up he saw Sigyn's eyes staring at him. She was the epitome of a Goddess; it took his breath away to look at her, even though he was still mourning his family.

"You are as much a war-hero as Thor, Loki. More so. You sacrificed so much to ensure we were safe. You have my respect. My unending respect…"

"What is it?" Lars asked as Hel put the black stain on each of them. It felt like hot tar, seeping into their skin like tree sap would sink into a carpet.

"This," she told them, "will get us through to Asgard."

"How?"

Loki and Sigyn spoke about a lot of things – Hel, mostly. The woman seemed interested to know about the daughter he'd lost. She laughed when she was supposed to, allowed her tears to fall when she heard of the moment Loki was told of her death, and even commended him for staying true to her throughout the war. His motive to avenge her, Sigyn said, was the most overwhelming, loving thing she had ever heard in her life.

Hel brought her followers to Silver Sheen. Its waters seemed to quake as she took a deep breath, stepping out until her feet were submerged into the water. The Giants looked at each other with concern, but followed no matter what their heads said, knowing that Hel would probably leave them behind if they didn't.

"You are a man who loves without condition," Sigyn cupped his cheek in her hand, bringing Loki's face up until they were staring into each other's eyes, "And now that Angrboda has been found, I suppose you two…?"

"N-no," damn this woman and her deep blue eyes, "Angrboda and I…there is too much there, too much hurt. Our family has been lost. And so has our marriage."

Hel raised her hands to the sky, "Silver Sheen; take us to Yggdrasil. It's time I paid a visit to Asgard!"

Loki and Sigyn smiled at each other as they walked hand-in-hand outside of the throne-room. For the first time in a long time, Loki was content. He was happy. He had a new fiancé, and the future wasn't looking as bleak as it had been before.

But further away, in the distance there, Hel and her fellow Giants vanished from Giantland for the first time in eighty years.


	36. The Monsters They Become

Every time Hel went there, she felt a little piece of her being sapped away. As Yggdrasil formed around them and the familiar grey-brick path swerved ahead, winding its way through gnarled root-archways and great ravines filled with darkness, the princess felt as though her soul was becoming encased in ice.

Their breaths billowed out in white smoke. It wasn't cold there – it was freezing. No sunlight pierced the sky above, not even a single ray to give the tree life, and yet somehow all of the creatures were visible as they moved along the road.

"My Queen," Lars whispered, "What is this place?" he had heard about in his storybooks, as he'd heard about krakens and succubae and all other mythical things, but he had to hear it from Hel before he dared believe where they were, what they were seeing.

"Yggdrasil. The tree of Life. It…isn't a nice place."

She didn't talk much along the way. Her lips remained still and her eyes remained focused, as though she were talking to someone in her head, though with every other noise she'd turn her face away from them to make sure they were not being followed. The Giants stayed silent; they had no wish to alert whatever creatures lived there that they were on the path, knowing full well those things would tear them to pieces.

Time passed oddly. One moment, they thought it was afternoon, and the next they had no idea what day it was. They trusted in Hel as they walked along the road, through the archways and past the creature's dens, which for some reason didn't come near them, but with each step they took a little bit more of their souls disappeared.

Suddenly, Hel slipped.

"Hel!"

The Giants lunged forward to pluck her from the ravine. She had already fired up her magic to save herself, but she was too late to shout at them to stay back. The darkness had sensed the Giants' beating hearts. It was coming for them.

"_Little, broken bodies…"_ she heard the voice in her head mutter as black, thin tendrils crept out of the ravine, "_I'll make you strong again…"_

Hel could only watch as the tendrils grabbed hold of her people and enveloped them in black tar. They struggled – they struggled valiantly, trying to free themselves so they could protect their queen – but the monster was too strong, and soon enough they weren't even visible in the oozing whip.

"Let them go!" she shouted, the tips of her feet hanging off the edge of the ravine as she stretched her neck out and her chin up, "Let them go!"

"_Watch, my Queen; watch them change. They are your people. But your people can't look so fragile."_

"Give them back, creature!"

As if her voice had commanded some sort of authority, the creature released them.

Hel watched as the tendrils gave birth to her Giants, slicked with black which hid their glowing red eyes, and faces plastered with the tar of the monster's fingers. Her eyes widened when she saw what they'd become.

"No…" she gasped as they rose up, advancing towards her, "No…"

They moved forward at a steady pace, and she only gaped at their hideous forms for a moment before she caught herself. Backing away to Yggdrasil, Hel said with a loud, barely quivering voice;

"I am your Queen! You will listen to me!"


	37. Her Return

In Loki's wing of the Asgardian palace, as the people outside grew tired of their cheering and dispatched to their meagre days, the mischievous God smiled at his soon-to-be wife; the only good thing to have happened to him in eighty years. Her beautiful eyes looked at him and sparkled in a way that meant pure happiness, and his heart exploded when he imagined this woman would bear his next child.

And this time, he would be able to protect them…

"You've made me so happy," he told her, cupping her hands with his, "I thought my heart would never open again. Not after…" he trailed off. Sigyn watched as he turned away from her, perhaps trying to hide the tears that were threatening in his eyes, but she wouldn't let him suffer in silence. Too many good men had fallen to the same fate. Her own father had done it when they lost her mother, and to allow her fiancé to do the same was more than she could bear.

"Darling?"

It took a moment, but he looked at her. His eyes glistened as they caught the sunlight streaming through the window. The bed creaked when he shuffled on it, as though uncomfortable in Sigyn's presence, despite that being far from the truth.

"She would be so proud of you. Look at what you've done. Asgard stands tall and proud and victorious, all because you went out and fought for our honour. What happened to Hel was a tragedy. It was a disgusting, despicable attempt to break you and our defences, and all it gained was your wrath. Surtur made his own bed. Let him lie in it. For Hel? She is at peace now."

Loki allowed the barest, gentlest smile to transcend his face. In a moment of misguidance, he leaned forward to kiss Sigyn's lips – she felt his anger and sadness as a white-hot spark, yet resisted the urge to flinch away so she could tend to his wounds.

"I wish I could believe you," he said, his voice quiet, "but even as time's passed, I feel as though she's far from peaceful. There's no rest wherever she's gone. I loved her more than anything I've ever known; I'm not afraid to say my sons never pleased me, and I'm glad I knew Hel for the time I did. She was my daughter. She was—is my baby."

Sigyn looked at him with interest. If he loved his daughter so much, would it help to offer him one? If they were to be married and he planned on making a new life, wouldn't a daughter help him forget the one he lost? In her heart she knew she could never replace Hel, but she could give Loki another child on which to focus his energy; if she was lucky, she could give him one blessed with magic just as Hel had been, and then he could let the past go to focus on the future.

Just as she pressed her hand against his forearm and opened her mouth to speak, a rapid knock at the door interrupted them. Loki glanced irritably at it.

"What is it?" he called.

"Prince Loki – the King has requested your presence in the hall." Came the muffled reply.

"Tell him I'm busy."

"It's urgent, sire."

"Well I'm urgently busy."

"I think you will want to attend, sire. The palace has a visitor."

Sigyn noticed the guard's voice was getting more and more desperate, as though there was some nugget of information he was holding back. But whatever she noticed seemed to fall on deaf ears for Loki.

"And why does that concern me?!"

"Sire," the guard grew softer, more disbelieving, "Hel's returned to Asgard."


	38. Kind Words, for a Trickster

Rushing through the hallways that connected to the palace throne-room, a million thoughts zoomed through Loki's mind. Hel? In the castle? He was sure the guard was mistaken. He knew his Hel to be dead – eighty years dead, and the body never recovered. Perhaps it was an apparition? It wouldn't surprise him if his daughter had come to haunt their lives, reminding them for the rest of eternity what they had failed to do.

As he kicked open the wide double-doors, his Sigyn close behind, the God stormed in with clenched fists and flaring nostrils. A small trickle of sweat beaded on his forehead whilst he took into account first Odin, and then the rest of the court.

That's when he saw the demons.

Standing at ten staggering feet, with horns that spewed thin red mist and fawned legs with rippling layers of muscle, these creatures stood together in a cluster of nine, as though shielding something that hid behind them. Loki could only gape open-mouthed as Thor moved towards him. His brother's face was pale.

"Loki," he whispered, and the demon's faces turned to him. Were they familiar somehow? He knew them from somewhere – Hel had once shown him a creature just like it, when he was going to leave for the first war-talks, and he had rebuked her. How could they be real?

The God let all the thoughts process in his mind before he turned to Thor. For the first time since he entered the hall, he realised Sigyn trembling behind him, noticed the way Thor's hands twitched as he rested them on his shoulder.

"She's returned. She's alive."

"And she wants what's owed to her!"

That voice! Combined with the ice of Jotunheim and the frost of an eternal winter, it sounded just as eerie as Loki remember – and just as loved. His head snapped to see the demons had parted and a small girl stepped out; her raven-black hair was familiar, as was the long white coat she'd made bigger to fit around her frame, but the glowing amethyst eyes threw him off for a moment.

And then his brain finally registered what he'd been told.

_Hel was alive._

His daughter stood there with a cruel smile on her face, staring at him with her head held high and her back unnervingly straight. Her legs were bent only a little bit so she looked like a cat prowling, but Loki could hardly see through the tears building in his eyes.

Odin, too shocked to speak, stepped down from his throne to watch what happened.

"Hel?" the God whispered in a hoarse voice, "Hel? Is that…is that you?"

She sneered at him, "Who else would it be, Trickster? A ghost? You would be so lucky."

He didn't register the ice in her words. All he focused on was the fact he had lost a daughter eighty years before, grieved for her and continued mourning until some hours ago, and now she seemed to have risen from the grave.

"How…how? I…I went to your funeral! I killed in your name! I _mourned _for you, grieved for you!" he advanced towards her. The tears were noticeable; they glinted in the chandelier light like dew drops in the sun, and all Hel could see was the fabricated web of lies she believed her father to have built. "How can you still be alive?!"

She turned on her heels to face the demons, which not a few minutes before had been her beloved Giant friends. An error of judgement – she should have known Yggdrasil would never allow non-magical creatures to pass through its roots, not without undergoing some horrific transformations.

"Your Ward," she muttered, "It protected me when the house fell. I was left alive – unconscious – but alive. When Eir found me, my one goal was to find a way to contact you, to tell you I was safe."

Her glowing eyes were on him again, bright and accusing, "And then I came to you, and you turned me away! You told me I was no longer Hel! Well, dear Trickster, you were wrong; I am Hel, Queen of the Forgotten, Queen of Giantland's Ashes, and now I demand what's rightfully mine!"

Loki thought back to his dream, the one he'd had after Hel's funeral. He had been so sure it was his mind. He'd told himself time and time again that Hel had perished and his brain was trying to make him cling to hope, in a desperate attempt to keep him from insanity. Tears sprung freely down his cheeks as he realised what a terrible mistake he'd made, and the echoing words he'd said that day rose back to the surface.

"You were right about one thing, though," she said before he could apologise, "You were right. I'm no longer your girl. I was, once. When I was young and my mind frail. But that day you rejected me – that day you told me to go back – I became something more. Something I was destined to be all along. My people-"

She gestured to the creatures behind her, which seemed calmly obedient despite their terrifying appearance.

"You recognise them, do you not? The Giant-lings of the Old World. Do you remember Eir, dear Trickster?"

He could barely speak, "Yes. Eir, and her husband Sigurd."

"Their daughter?"

Everyone went silent. Even Thor remembered their Giant-ling, renowned for her beauty in all of the Nine Realms. But he didn't call out like he would have if they were in a lesson. He stayed back, too stunned to speak, standing next to his future sister-in-law as she watched in silent guardianship of her fiancé.

"Geneva."

Hel smiled and turned her head to one of the demons. It stepped out to stand next to her, and she gestured to its great height as though showing a new car.

"Well," she said, her face mocking, "Time changes us."

The sheer shock of everything was making Loki dizzy. He wanted to run forward and hug Hel, beg her forgiveness and offer to be a better father, a kinder father. He wanted to promise her the universe and stay by her side forever. But the old wound had been slightly healed by time, and his new life with Sigyn was on the horizon. The God couldn't make sense of all the emotions he was feeling.

As if bored with him, Hel turned her head to Odin, "There's no need to draw this out. I'm quite alive, and quite well. What I demand is simple."

The old King looked at her with a glinting curiousness in his eyes.

"And what is that?" he asked, stopping himself from adding 'my granddaughter.'

"What is that, he asks!" she laughed, "Is it not obvious? The ruler of Niflheim is dead. I demand his throne as payment for my sacrifice!"


	39. Her Crown, Her Throne

"And just why would I give you the throne to Niflheim?"

The initial shock of the meeting had worn off, and Odin was finally processing all that was going on. He understood that Hel had lived – in the back of his mind, the old King laughed at Surtur – but he couldn't quite understand how she thought herself entitled to a throne that wasn't in her bloodline, wasn't in anyone's bloodline.

"Because out of all your people, I have suffered the most in this war. My people and I; we saw our families torn apart, our homes burned, and later we watched as our small group of mothers began to dwindle and die. Who deserves a throne more than someone who's lost everything they ever loved?"

She stood up to her full height, which even as time passed hadn't amounted to much more than a few feet. Loki remembered running up to her when she was a little bit smaller, throwing her up in the air and marvelling at how light she was, but he pushed aside those memories so he could concentrate on what was going on.

A burst of pride exploded in his chest. Hel had sought them out after all that time, only to demand a throne not rightfully hers. It was the sheer audacity, the strength of her argument that made him remember how clever she was, and that brought back a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You cannot be serious!" Odin said.

"And yet, I am," she started forward, walking towards him with a look of indifference on her face; "I am—was a princess. I'm now a Queen. A queen to a world broken and torn by _your_ war. If anything, I say you owe me more than this throne, but I will be kind and demand nothing else."

"There's no way I'll give you this position!" the King walked up to meet her. His face was a picture of rage, masked behind a grey beard and a long, fading mane of brown, and a slight glint of admiration in his eyes for the young girl he had once welcomed to his throne-room. Hel may have been small and her face deceiving, but she hid a wickedness about her that was bound to come out at some point.

"Truly?"

She tilted her head down, until her eyes were peeking underneath her brow to stare up at the King.

"Then perhaps you would prefer if I were to mention the fact I turn blue? How whenever the cold comes, I hardly feel it? How I seem so passive around monsters eight times the size of me, and my mother never made me tremble?"

Odin's eyes went wide. A thousand thoughts and questions exploded in his head as he stared down at Hel – his granddaughter, but not by blood. All of his blood drained from his face when she began to circle him, and it was by Loki's glaring that none of the guards put a stop to it.

But the God himself was confused. Why didn't Hel feel the cold? What was it about her that made her so resistant to it? And blue? He'd never known her to turn blue – perhaps it was a recent discovery? Shame burnt through his cheeks as he realised he knew little about what his own daughter had been up to, and yet his curiosity caused him to keep a steady gaze on the speakers.

"My dear, sweet Odin – keeping secrets from the court? Oh, how noble of you. How noble for a King to deny his honest _granddaughter_ a throne she's owed, when he can't even tell the truth to his own people!"

Hel raised her hand to the demons waiting behind them. They advanced, their great hooves clicking against the floor, leaving behind them a trail of bubbling tar.

"Did you ever wonder where I was? Did you ever think about what I had to do?"

"We thought you were dead," he hissed.

"Do not tell me lies," she warned, "For I saw Heimdall when I arrived, and he wasn't surprised to see me."

Odin went rigid. His façade of shock had died from his face, and what was left was a bitter admittance of what he'd known all along. It had been so long he'd begun to believe his own lies, and when Loki stepped out from the sides to speak he had to turn his eyes away.

"What?" he asked, looking from Hel to Odin, "What is she saying? Father? What does that meant?"

Thor stepped out, his mind for once fasting than his brother's as he took in his father with shock.

"You knew?" the great God said, "You knew all along?"

Hel stepped forward to demand the attention once more.

"Of course he knew! Heimdall sees all, does he not? And he reports everything he sees to one man – a man who binds him to oath!"

Loki felt like his whole world was breaking. Not only had his daughter returned after eighty years absence, it turned out his father, who he'd trusted and fought for, had lied to him about her death. He had known throughout all those years that Hel lived. He had told Loki to store his anger for the Fire Giants, and manipulated every emotion in him to make sure they won their battles. In a moment of clarity, the God felt used, his very power sapping from him so much that he almost stumbled into Thor. He was lucky his brother was so sturdy.

Hel wouldn't let him gather himself, "And I'm prepared to forgive you, Odin, for the pain you caused me. If you hand me the throne I'm owed, there shall be no more bad blood between us. Your selfishness caused me to become a better person."

"Hel?"

The girl turned to see her grandmother, still so beautiful and warm, so comforting in a time when everything hurt. She sashayed through the soldiers like a swan would glide across a lake, speaking to her in a way that made Hel remember every good memory she had in those walls.

But still, her face didn't change.

"Where is Eir?" Frigga asked in a soft voice, "What happened to her?"

Hel stepped back as if she'd been wounded. Even the demons swayed slightly at the memory of their past, however small and fragmented that was.

"She…" the girl cleared her throat. "There were many of us. Mothers, a baby, and…Giant-lings-" she gestured to the demons; "made up the group. We wandered the Forest all day and night, searching for rescue, finding nothing. The baby was stolen away whilst we slept. Soon enough, its mother went with it, and the mothers who went to look for her never returned. Eir was left to care for us all. And then I was rejected by my father…"

Hel trailed off. An unsettling silence filled the air as she glared at Loki. It wasn't until Frigga prompted that she carried on.

"And I wanted nothing more to do with the Old World! I looked at the Giant-lings and I saw a blank canvas! I saw a fresh start, a start in which the Forest could be conquered! Eir had attacked me, and her mind was breaking, so I told Geneva to take a rock and put her out of her misery!"

The court reeled in shock as Hel finished her story, tears stinging her eyes whilst she tried to clear away the mess of memories in her head. It wasn't her fault that she had reacted in such a way. When having her back pressed against a wall, she chose to save not only herself, but a world that would have otherwise perished. She gave the Giant-lings hope when there was none. And if that meant the death of a Giantess, it was a price she would have gladly paid.

Clearing her throat, she spoke again; "But that's beside the point. What I did then means next to nothing. Odin."

He looked up, and felt the fiery weight of Loki's glare on him.

"You know now what I'm capable of. Death makes me stronger. I wish for nothing more in this life than a land I can call my own."

A moment of consideration found Hel walking back up to her grandfather, looking at him through the eerily straightness of her hair, and speaking with a voice weighed down by pain.

"You owe me a life," she muttered, "Give me Niflheim, and a life you've given."

Odin sighed.

"You are deserving," he decided, "And Niflheim is worthy. Fine. Hel – I shall coronate you as Queen of Niflheim – Helheim."


	40. Walk in the Park

News of Hel's return spread like wildfire. She was being discussed in taverns, homes, eateries and more, whilst Loki stowed himself away to work out what was going on. The princess strolled through parks with her demons in tow, smiling at some of the citizens who watched her like a ghost and singing with the strange, multi-coloured birds that soared in the air, so different from the ones in their newly-growing Forest.

She recognised some of the children – not so much children now as they towered above her, some betrothed. One of the boys she remembered to have played tricks on her when she was younger. Muttering under her breath, Hel smiled as a wisp of purple magic left her mouth and seconds later, the boy was hurtling down the hill to the river just below them.

"This," she told Geneva, or Geneva's demon-likeness, "is a place I never thought I'd return. Not willingly. Think, Gee; soon we'll have a whole land to call ours, a whole realm! I tremble just thinking about it…"

"And these people will one day be mine! That's the beauty of it! I will never have to worry about revolts, never about wars or trials – people will fear me, revere me, make me out to be a Goddess amongst men!"

She threw her hands up in the air, spinning under the glorious sunlight as it warmed her skin. For the first time in a long time, she was happy. Hel had found a place to call her own; soon enough, she would have a seat of power and a populace that would love her. She was sure of it. There was so much pain in her past, so how could the future be anything but wonderful?

From the distance, where the palace dominated the land as a gleaming, golden fortress, Loki watched his daughter out of his bedroom window. Her twirling and laughter was seen and heard by him even though she was so far away. His heart broke into little fragments as he realised that was the happiest she had been in a long time, and remembered that his father had stolen from him the chance to be with his daughter.

"I'll kill him," he promised to Sigyn, who sat on the bed behind him, "He stole her from me. He took my right to take care of my daughter."

"Don't speak like that – it's treason. He did it for the good of Asgard. He never meant to hurt you."

"And yet that's all he's done. Look at her; she's beautiful…"

Loki swore to himself then; he would make it up to her, whether that meant shedding Odin's blood or giving her the world.


	41. Coronation Preparation

Preparing for the coronation was rather like preparing for a grand wedding. Hel sampled outfit after outfit, threw on jewellery and discarded it just as quickly, watching herself in the mirror as she transformed from beggar queen to gem-eyed monarch.

Her Asgardian guest room, fitted with a king-sized bed and hanging silver threads attached to servant bells, gleamed golden whilst she worked. She hardly noticed the heaven-like music drifting through the air. The harpists in the courtyard below faded from memory; there were more important things to deal with, more pressing matters at hand, which made her think with a giddy pleasure that her mind was becoming more attuned to lordship. No pleasure would deter her from her path. She no longer enjoyed frittering her life away on hobbies such as painting and singing – they were for children, and she wasn't a child. Not now. Not ever again.

"Hel, Hel, Hel," she tutted at her reflection, a hand ghosting over her pale cheeks, "Why do you have to make an impression? You're not suited to makeup."

It was true. Her skin was too delicate and soft to paint over, and the harsh chemicals in their cosmetics made her feel like she was on fire. The brush and powder stayed on the chest of drawers beside her, though her grandmother would surely notice she hadn't used it.

Loki paced outside of her door with a frown on his face. He had fought with himself ever since the preparations began, wondering if it would be foolish of him to go to Hel and beg her forgiveness, and all the while she had forgotten he was even there. In his heart, a thousand battles raged. He wanted to stay loyal to his father despite everything he'd done, yet wanted to prove to his daughter he loved her by attacking everything Asgard stood for. How dare Odin use him! How dare he endanger Hel! How dare Muspelheim have attacked in the first place, destroyed everything he'd known and loved, only to claim it a victory for themselves!

"_Friend of a friend, do you see her there? That little girl with the bells in her hair," _he looked up. That song – he'd heard it before, long ago when he was a boy and the maids thought he wasn't listening.

Without thinking about it, Loki moved closer to the door so he could hear more clearly. The words came through like an angel drifting on the breeze, and the harps which echoed outside only made her sound more heavenly.

"_In the field in her billowing dress, white and pure so she'll impress. She's smiling now; can you tell it's fake? There's never been so much at stake. Her father's whispering in her ear. He's lying to her, you can tell from here. Friend of a friend, it's the saddest thing, when the robin's quiet and the birds don't sing. She's married now. She was married then. It's the saddest thing, friend of a friend."_

He had never understood that song until right at that moment, when he was pressed up against his daughter's door straining to hear her voice. Tears trickled down his eyes as he realised what the lyrics meant – a daughter marrying someone she didn't love to make her father happy, and in the same sentence it was saying she would only obey the man she loved.

How many times had Loki thought about Hel's future wedding? A few. He had wondered who he would kill to make sure she married the right man. He wondered how he would deal with walking her down the aisle, seeing her adorned with bells and golden magic and her perfect, beautiful green eyes, filled with tears as she officially left childhood to enter marriage. It was only until then that he wondered if it was really what she wanted. It just seemed…normal.

But Hel was far from normal. The evidence was clear. His daughter was to be an independent queen, an independent soul, who ruled over her people with no worry of children or homemaking. Frigga hadn't cared much about power; she had told him countless times that women of the higher court were more interested in children, and the men they had married to create those children. Ever since he was a boy, Loki saw women as people who would look after his legacy. Was that why he'd loved Angrboda, yet found her infuriating?

The door swung open whilst he was lost in thought, and out stepped Hel with her coronation clothes. A white, long winter coat fringed with black, dark trousers which covered her scarred legs from years on Forest-wandering, and her hair hanging over her shoulders like a straight waterfall. Loki had to jump back to avoid being smacked in the face, but his jaw almost hit the floor when he saw her.

"Trickster?" she said, momentarily surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"I…well…I…was worried about-"

"Your lies are failing." She sang as she began to walk down the hallway.

He followed her without a thought; "They're not lies, Hel."

"I suppose you'd have to say something for it to be a lie."

"That's a lovely outfit you're wearing."

"It's the same as my outfit when I came here. I just…fixed it."

"Oh," he glanced her over again, and noticed that she kept her eyes fixed ahead of her rather than looking at him, "Well, it's beautiful."

They reached the end of the hallway in an uncomfortable silence. As Hel reached out to open one of the wide doors she paused, and then turned to her father with curious eyes.

"That woman," she said, "Sigyn?"

Loki was taken aback, "Yes."

"She's very beautiful. Are you married?"

"Engaged to be," he muttered, "A lot's happened since we decided to be together. A lot happened before it, too. She makes me happy."

"Hm," Hel's amethyst eyes glinted at him, "I remember a time when mother made you happy, too."

"Your mother and I agreed to separate on mutual terms, Hel. What I do now is no longer her concern."

"She was always fearful of Sigyn. I must admit, I didn't think you so low to betroth yourself so soon after the war's end. Oh, don't fear-" she raised her hand to silence him, "But speak only when spoken to, Trickster. Our relationship no longer breaks the bonds of business. Sigyn and yourself; you do not concern me, no; my demons will keep me company, and my company shall forever hate you."


	42. She the Queen

Great trumpets rang out through the air as people stood waiting in the courtyard, looking up at the balcony where the King would make his speech. The entire palace had been covered with decorations – like her funeral, Hel was given an array of flowers she loved and a great feast was provided for the people, who muttered anxiously to each other that the princess they'd mourned had returned.

Odin sat on his throne making the final touches. His heroic Asgardian armour gleamed in the sunlight streaming through his windows; it glinted and blinded his wandering maids, who kept their tongues in their heads about his treachery. No one outside of the palace knew of his part played in Hel's disappearance. No one apart from his wife, sons, soon-to-be daughter-in-law and Hel knew that Odin had known his 'granddaughter' was alive, and the maids preferred to let him believe that. It was best not to get involved in royal arguments.

Heimdall stood at the foot of the throne, where he was thinking quietly about all that had transpired. How he'd taken a father from his daughter to help in the war. A small part of him tugged and screamed '_this is wrong,_' and yet, at the same time, he felt great pride telling Odin his plan, as though the sacrifice was one only they felt pain for.

"Where is she?" the great King called to one of the scurrying maids. She looked up, red hair in her eyes as she looked up at him, and wondered what the once-warrior would ask next.

"Hel's waiting for her summons," she said, her voice smaller than she intended it to be, "She's been in preparation for the past three days, sire. I've been taking scrolls to her."

"What scrolls?" the King's face grew instantly paler, "Not spell scrolls?"

"No, sire. Prince Loki told me not to bring her anything which can be used as a weapon. She wanted scrolls on Niflheim, and I saw no reason not to give them to her, what with the coronation."

Odin settled, but only to the point where his shoulders were hitched up to his neck and his hand tightened a small bit around his staff, "Good. I suppose…what she must do to make herself a good queen…"

It was all so surreal. He thought he'd been sentencing Hel to certain death when he decided not to tell Loki of her, and yet somehow she'd worked her way back and convinced him to unhand a throne. Was that pride bubbling in his chest? It must have been – so few had dared come to his court for things they were owed, but Hel's sense of justice brought her to face him without fear, her flanks guarded by creatures so fearsome he thought he had died and gone to a terrifying, fiery world.

The double doors slammed open at the other end and in walked Thor, dressed in his fine leathers and sporting a rather nice, polished Mjolnir. His smile was majestic as he strode towards the throne.

"Heimdall," he greeted cheerily, and in a guarded tone, "Father."

Odin sighed, "Don't act like a child, Thor. It was for the good of the Kingdom. You know as well as I that this was a necessary evil. Your brother will soon understand the decision I made."

"I live in hope," the God's voice drifted in from the door, where he was striding in with Sigyn at his elbow. His face was the picture of rage. "Who knows – my daughter may yet forgive me for something that wasn't my fault."

Frigga appeared at the throne's foot to defend her majesty; "Loki, stay your tongue. Your father's duty is to make hard decisions."

"Were it Thor or I to have vanished, Mother, would you feel the same?"

"I would try to understand our Kingdom's need for peace outranked my own."

"Then you and I are at odds with our parenting."

He silenced Sigyn before she could speak, walking up to glare at his father with green, calmly enraged eyes. They almost froze Odin's insides. And that thought sent him hurtling down paths he didn't want to remember.

"I don't hate you," he told him, "I understand what you did. Were I in your shoes, I would probably have done the same. But, in the same breath, Hel is my daughter, and for so long I mourned her; my heart broke every day, my lungs took air only because I was so angry, and in hiding my child from me you destroyed my family. Father, I ask not for you to seek my forgiveness, but understand yourself why it may take me a while…to accept what's happened."

Odin was silenced. He looked down at his son – his poor, betrayed son – and saw the man he'd become, the father who had mourned and fought out of sheer grief. His decision to hide Hel's surviving wasn't one he made lightly. But for the first time since he made it, Odin understood just how deep he had cut Loki's wound.

The doors slammed open for a third and final time. In walked Hel, dressed in her long white coat and wearing a crown of tied daisy-chains, smiling at people as she walked past. Her pale skin seemed almost grey in the sunlight. Her frame seemed even smaller than it had been before, or at least Loki thought so as she approached them. In a moment, he thought of death, and realised in a moment that Hel was the very embodiment of it.

"Are we ready yet?" she asked. Her voice was combined with ice and magic, making it echo around the room. She tried not to look at her father, but couldn't resist glancing over to ensure he was still there.

_Hello, Daddy. Did you miss me? I missed you. I want time to go back. I want to fall asleep in our house again. I want to go back home and see you and hug you and I want Mother to come in so we can have dinner together. But time can't go back. And here we are. Sigyn's here. One day, Trickster, she'll be gone. Nothing ever stays the same._

"Yes. Come."

The crowd cheered bloody murder as Odin stepped out into the sunlight, Frigga at his elbow. Thor and Loki followed as Sigyn stayed behind, not yet a royal, and not yet welcome on the grand balcony. Hel waited for her signal behind her.

But as the King began to address his people, Hel reached out and touched Sigyn's warm back, turning it icy as she muttered a warning.

"He always loved me," she growled, Sigyn's screams muted by the sheer cold, "And you've stolen him away. But fear not, pretty Asgardian – I'll make it so you never have the mind to replace me. He's lost his daughter. He will never have another."

And in her voice of magic and ice, Hel chanted; "_He gave up, the past is gone – may divines and angels hear my song. I am the daughter, the blessed, the girl; never shall my rage unfurl. He chose not to save my soul, and so my life had paid the toll – seek no wisdom, hear no lies, but listen to the tears I cry; take her womb, make it cold, and let no sister it ever hold."_

The spell was complete. Sigyn felt a sharp stab of pain and uttered a silent scream, but Hel had stolen what she wanted. And just in time.

"I present to you the new Queen of Niflheim – Hel, the ruler of Helheim!"

Out Hel went onto the royal balcony, looking down at the crowd which screamed for her, and she accepted the huge golden crown on the special place on her head, given to her by Loki – who felt his heart breaking one last time.


	43. Words Between Friends

The great feast went on through the night, with music and dancing and all the Asgardians bursting to see their old princess, now Niflheim's queen. Hel sat on a throne reserved for visiting royalty – poised and guarded, she only spoke when there was a specific question asked, and until then she nodded and smiled at the people giving her praise.

The children she had once played with were anxious to see her now. They told her of all that had passed when she had vanished, putting Loki's actions on a pedestal to the point where she stopped caring, but they moved off just as quickly as they had come. No matter what had passed, how many years went by with how many wars, they still saw Hel as the delicate flower she always was, rather than the Queen of Death and Decay she'd become.

Sigyn had vanished soon after the ceremony, much to the surprise of her betrothed. He sought her out in his chambers but found she wasn't there.

_No matter, _he thought as he entered the courtyard again, welcomed by the open arms of his people, _probably tired. A lot's happened. She shall find me tomorrow, and all will be right again._

As the party span and swirled around him, Loki looked up to his daughter, sitting there on the platform beside the King. She seemed not to notice him. Instead, her eyes were on the multitude of colours below, as though following each individual person so she could memorise their face. What was going through her mind? He shuddered to think.

"Heimdall," Hel called above the din of noise, and smiled when he looked up, "May I speak with you for a moment?"

The seer glanced at his King, but when given the all clear he walked up to the pale Queen. His heart felt cold just looking at her. There was a monstrous something in her eyes, something that danced and twirled in plain sight, but was somehow hidden to him. The thought alone made him want to scream at her. Why she wanted to talk to him, he knew all too well.

Odin was distracted by scuffling children trying to catch his attention, and Hel took the moment to speak privately with the seer.

"You know what I did, yes?" her eyes sparked at him. The amethyst seemed to reach in and grip his soul; fitting, considering what she was going to do with the rest of eternity.

"Yes," he replied, voice low and disapproving, but no less comforting to her.

Hel sat up straighter. "Then you know why I did it."

"Jealousy, my Queen?"

"Mm, perhaps. Or ownership. Taking what's rightfully mine, both in throne and father."

"A spell to stop Sigyn from having daughters – I'm almost impressed."

"From the man who sees all, I take that as high praise. But you understand why I call you up here, do you not?"

"I suppose you want me not to speak of it to Loki. I am loyal to my King and Prince, Hel. You know I will do what I see as beneficial for the kingdom."

"Don't tell me that," she laughed almost cruelly, "when you kept my survival from him. You care nothing for the Trickster – only for your King. And that's the way it should be. Oh, I forgive Odin for what he did, and I forgive you for the part you played, Heimdall; my father should have known my life hadn't left this universe. We were bonded. But now that bond has broken, and you must keep this information from him until I tell you otherwise."

Heimdall's amber eyes looked into glowing amethyst, "May I ask why?"

"Why! For the good of the Kingdom, Heimdall. You don't want another war on your hands, do you?"

The words carried more weight than actions ever could, and the seer leaned back just in time for Odin to look up. The King looked at them oddly as Hel smiled at Heimdall, turning her head to stare at some of the more playful children in the courtyard.

Loki had seen the exchange between seer and daughter, yet he couldn't understand why Heimdall looked so…affected. There were no emotions running through his eyes – that was normal for him – but there was a definite change in body language, the way he gripped his staff closer to him, the way he moved towards the King as though protecting him from the unseen. The God didn't think when he gently manoeuvred his way through the crowd; he needed to speak to Hel.

She saw him walking up the stairs, and took a deep breath as she averted her eyes from him, "Trickster."

"Stop calling me that," he said in a strained voice, "That's not who I am."

"Truly? Perhaps I have my history wrong. No matter. What is it? Come to praise the new Queen? Like so many other 'fine' Asgardians."

She turned her head to him for the first time. Odin, sensing the tension in the air, made an excuse about seeing some of the new mothers, leaving the two to discuss the ongoing matter between them. A matter he was responsible for, but nonetheless wanted no part in.

When they were alone, Loki sat on Odin's throne next to his daughter, and looked out at the party in front of them. People were whirling without a care in the world. Thor danced with maidens and married women alike, whilst his mother was busy with telling her husband the situation of some of the babies. It was all very normal. But he could feel the anger seeping from his daughter's skin, and was reminded again of how this was a celebration of her new monarchy, how she had grown so distant from him she was hardly his daughter at all.

"I missed you." He said after some time had passed. She moved her shoulders with unease, keeping her eyes away from him.

"And I you, for a time."

"I mourned for you, Hel."

"And I mourned for you, Father."

"For me?" his brow knitted in confusion, "Why?"

"I thought you were held hostage, or worse. I thought the reason you hadn't come for us…the past and a child's mind are tricky things. Why should we discuss them?"

He sat back in the chair, looking at the people below them as he thought about what he wanted to say.

"Why did you come back? Just for the throne?" he settled on. It seemed to make her happy – the corners of Hel's lips upturned in a smile, and she rolled her shoulders into a more comfortable position.

"Partly."

"How did you even know the King of Niflheim was dead?"

"Magic," she raised her hand and allowed a wisp of purple to seep through it, "Magic and sheer luck."

"Magic…" he smiled, "I should have guessed. It flows through your veins."

"Were it not for my magic, you truly would be without a daughter."

Silence. Then;

"Hel?"

She turned, and for the first time in a long time Hel saw her father's true face. His tears were sparkling rivers in his eyes and his bottom lip quivered as he took her hands in his. He was grateful she didn't flinch away, though it took all her willpower not to.

"Being a queen…" he started, "It's a hard duty, and one I never wished on you. I always thought you would grow and become more dedicated to your magic. I hoped our lives would turn out differently from this. I'm sorry for what's happened. I wish I could turn back time."

Hel looked at her father as though seeing him for the first time. The amethyst in her eyes flickered and, for just a split second, he could see the green they hid, the little part of him that she had eradicated, before it vanished and was filled by that unnerving glow.

"I'm Queen of Niflheim now," she drew her hand from him, looking back out to the crowd, "And as Queen, I renounce all personal connections with Asgard, family, and father. To all my people – to all your people – I am a neighbouring realm, of which one day you shall all be subjects to. I know time can't be changed, Trickster. And I am grateful for it."


	44. Hel's End

Hel went to Niflheim the next morning, before anyone could offer her any more advice. She didn't say goodbye to her father. As it was he was wrapped up in an overly emotional Sigyn, and couldn't find the time to slip away to bid her his sad farewell. The Queen found it fitting that she was walking into her royalty blind – it made her feel as though she had truly inherited the realm rather than just won it in persuasion, and her demons followed her eagerly as she faced Heimdall one last time.

"You'll heed our agreement, won't you?" she smiled, "It would be such a shame to repeat Muspelheim's mistake. You wouldn't want to put your people at risk. I trust we'll see one another soon, Heimdall."

With one more parting glance, Heimdall sent Hel to her new destiny. The Bifrost Bridge's gears slid together and the tunnel of light appeared, before the Queen and her terrifying demons vanished from Asgard; their hope, for the last time.

Helheim was a cruel place, where winter was eternal and the season killed everything that had once lived. The group landed on one of the icy boulders that protruded from the ground, high enough to see most of the realm until its further stretches disappeared beyond the horizon, or it all became too grey for them to see much more than a blob. The frost glittered under a sun hidden by clouds. Hel looked at it all for a moment, and then turned to her demons.

"A wonderful place for a Frost Giant," she mused as they lifted her from the ground, "I would suspect Laufey will be here one day, saying the place is his. Foolish Giant. He will die just as Surtur does; in a pit of fiery pain where even his screams aren't heard."

The demons took her from the boulder and down to the ground, where she stood up straight and tilted her head back. The sky began to tremble with her energy. Her hands opened as the wind began to pick up.

"Welcome home!" she cried to the demons, "Our new beginning! Look at where we've come from – all this death and tragedy, it was meant for this! Power and the crown! It was meant for this!"

And so the years flooded by. Sigyn and Loki married in Asgard, and the God pretended he was content with how things had turned out. Hel spent the next few decades rebuilding the icy lands of Helheim, until a grand palace stood in the centre and she had adopted her own pet guard dog, Garm. Silver Sheen's magic was taken from Giantland to be placed in a giant well underneath her castle – here, she could see all of the Nine Realms as they went about their lives, keeping a watchful eye on her father despite everything that had passed.

She grew, but only a little. She was the Stunted Giant. After a while, everyone forgot her by that name; her iron rule was known throughout all of the holds and, no matter how youthful her face, people came to fear Hel, even making rumours that she appeared to her subjects half-decayed. They were all rumours, of course. She rarely ever spoke to her people. They wandered in the Forest she had grown beyond her palace – the ones who had been terrible in their lives found themselves cast in eternal winter, while those who were good and just wandered in a pleasant, warm place of beauty and peace, accompanied by twittering birdsong as they spent the rest of eternity in nature.

Angrboda had never resurfaced after her rescue from Surtur's hold, and in some ways that was best. Hel never had to explain to her how she had killed people of their old world. She also never had to tell her that she placed a curse on Sigyn, which she hoped her father was wise enough to pick up on as they tried in vain for a daughter.

_And let no sister it ever hold…_

She spent her time making royal decisions, away from the prying eyes of her once-grandfather. Baldur came to her after a while and she welcomed him with open arms. Frigga begged for her son back, but she couldn't fulfil her contract and, much as it pained Hel to do so, she helped her father by sticking to her moral code, telling her still beloved grandmother that her son was now a Helheim subject.

_I love you dearly, need I tell, the world is brighter, with you my girl…_

News of her father's betrayal reached her some time after the Avengers had come into the mix, and by then she was more interested in what Loki had found out. Finally, he had learnt his roots were not of Asgard. She almost felt sorry for him when she heard about his imprisonment. And when it came for him to die, a slight twinge of something – what, she didn't know – tugged at her heart, and she broke her code just a little bit to make him wake up again.

But her life was no longer dedicated to her father's approval. Hel found contentment in what she was born to do; judging souls and casting them into what she deemed fitting. She spoke no more to her uncle, the Midgardian hero that he was. She barely registered the fact that Sigyn had left Loki, perhaps pained for what they could never have. Anything and everything soon broiled down to the fact she was now a queen, and her lust for power was sated.

Until, of course, she learned of the wonderful, inquisitive little thing in the universe, known only as Aether…


End file.
